To Rossi's House We Go
by sienna27
Summary: Universe A: Offshoot - Novel & Short Story Challenge: Title Challenge - James Patterson - 4th of July - 'Girl flashback to July 2008. The team's back at Rossi's for a big holiday BBQ. H/P friendship. Probably a 3 shot.
1. Doritos, Potato Salad & Random Acts

**Author's Note****: ** _Girl_ Flashback to July 2008 – Rossi's 4th o'July BBQ

When I was blocked last month this was the first thing that came to me. This blessed story that I've not been able to write for like 8 months was the only thing that came to me when I couldn't write anything bizarre how these things go. But anyway, now it's here!

As always with these, it's a stand alone piece, but to place it into Girl, missing day about a week after Chapter 54, "_The Lightning Round_." And yes, we will be playing that again in here!

**PROMPTS ANNOUNCEMENT**: Kavi and I thought a nice outlet for frustration over this week's network decisions, was to put up a special bonus. It's called "Girl Power" and it's geared towards Emily and JJ. Please check it out, it's on the TV Prompts forum (Bonus #17) which you can get to from my profile or Kavi's. My intention is to use prompts off the list to write a new _Being Emily_ story AND to tackle the first ever _Being JJ_ story! I'm looking forward to those and I'll try and get them up next week :)

**And to the campaigns to save Paget and AJ: ** Paget tweeted this afternoon that she had a big meeting coming up later in the day, no updates since but she's in a different time zone than me so they could very well still be meeting. And the petition's up to over 32 thousand signatures so hopefully that's a helpful bargaining chip for her to show the fan support for her character! Haven't heard anything on AJ's situation beyond a tweet from JM (he's getting a star on the walk of fame) and he said that he hoped that "ALL of the cast would be there." And as I told Kavi, those caps right there are why I love me some Rossi!

And beyond the petition (again, it's on my profile so please sign it if you haven't done so yet) and the Facebook campaign, Paksiegurlie had another really good idea, she went through her saved copies of last season's eps and wrote down all of their advertisers and she started reaching out to them. She's given me her list (we can thank her for doing all the hard work here) and I'm going to post them at the end of the story. If you do send any of these companies or groups emails telling them that you won't support their products if they're going to support the network's decision to cut the women, just remember to be respectful, you want them to take you seriously!

**Back to the story**, to the prompt I used, I finally got to use one of my Book titles! It's actually off the new summer set we haven't posted yet but as I picked it I figure I could use it now :) All of the summer ones will be up for general consumption the first of July.

* * *

**Novel & Short Story Challenge**, **Summer Prompts**

**Title**: James Patterson

**Prompt**: 4th of July

* * *

**Doritos, Potato Salad & Random Acts of Violence**

"And did we remember the potato salad?"

"Yes, Prentiss."

"And the Doritos?"

"Yes, Prentiss."

"And," Emily tapped her pen nervously on the list in front of her, "the um, Diet Dr. Pepper? Because you know JJ likes the Diet Dr. Pepper and she's not supposed to be drinking much caffeine so she can't have the Diet Coke."

"Yes," Hotch responded patiently, "I did know that Prentiss. And yes," he hit the directional to turn off the GW Parkway, "we did buy two bottles of Diet Dr. Pepper just for that reason."

This was the second time Emily had run down the list since he'd arrived at her apartment forty-five minutes ago. And though under other circumstances her OCD might be driving him to pull his weapon right about now, at present he was actually just filled with an unusual sense of calm.

And that's because he had decided that this was going to be a good day.

They were on their way to Dave's for a Fourth of July barbecue and the last party that they had gone to at Dave's house had been on Christmas Eve and that had been quite enjoyable. And Hotch felt that given that he and Emily had grown much closer since then . . . and specifically had been spending quite a lot of time together over the last five or six weeks . . . he had high hopes that this party would be better than the last.

Not that those factors alone were enough for him to put aside what would otherwise be normal irritation at somebody asking you the same questions three times in forty-five minutes.

No, the key to his patience on that point was that he knew that Emily was really nervous about forgetting something, and he didn't want to be a jerk and snap at her just for trying to make sure she had a good party.

And make no mistake . . . regardless of the locale . . . this did seem to very much be _EMILY'S_ party.

Somehow . . . Hotch was still a bit baffled by the chain of events . . . Emily had agreed/volunteered/been shanghaied (he wasn't sure of the appropriate verb) into bringing basically EVERYTHING for the damn barbecue!

And then he (by virtue of having already agreed to go with her) had somehow been shanghaied . . . no confusion about the verb there . . . into _helping_ her bring everything for the damn barbecue. So last night after work they'd spent an hour and a half picking up food and supplies at the Safeway by her apartment.

Not unsurprisingly, given that it was a government pay day weekend _and _twenty-four hour hours before a three day holiday, the place was a madhouse. But Hotch had gritted his teeth, holstered both of his weapons, and somehow they got through the trip without any casualties.

Then of course when they finally got to the register with their overflowing cart(s) (plural), Emily had tried to pay for everything herself. He still had no idea what the hell she was thinking there. Because he of course had just rolled his eyes as he'd pushed fifty bucks into her hand. Fifty bucks which she immediately shoved back into his jacket pocket.

And, well . . . suffice it to say, there was a slight "incident" at the checkout. Unfortunately his zenlike calm had not descended on him until he woke up this morning. And admittedly they had caused a bit of a scene what with the yelling and the exchanging of sarcastic remarks. And unfortunately _that_ had resulted in the store manager coming over to ask if it was going to be necessary for him to call the authorities. So Hotch had to pull his badge as he _again_ gritted his teeth and explained that they _were_ the authorities so no, no it would not be necessary to call anyone.

It was not the kind of moment that was going to get him the 'Agent of the Month' parking spot.

Hotch of course blamed Emily for the whole embarrassing scene. And he was about to tell her that when the manager walked away. But then . . . to his utter astonishment . . . he turned back to see that she was about to open her mouth, AGAIN!

The woman was occasionally as stubborn as a mule . . . but so was he. And he knew that if they started up again that there was no way in hell that they were getting home without having an embarrassing conversation with the local P.D. So he'd put his finger to her lips and told her that if she said one more word that he'd pull out his cuffs and arrest her for harassing a federal agent. As he'd hoped, her mouth had started to quiver before she huffed and finally tucked the folded bill into her pocket.

Fight over.

And yes, dear God, it was an ordeal. But seriously though, like he was going to just STAND there while she paid for a hundred and thirty dollars worth of groceries for a party that he was ALSO attending?

Come on! She'd known him for three years, did she SERIOUSLY think that was going to fly?

By the time they finished shopping/fighting and got back to her apartment it was nearly ten, so they'd left the paper goods, sodas and the chips in his jeep and he helped her get the rest of the bags up to her apartment. He'd foolishly assumed that she was just making a potato salad and they'd bring the rest of the groceries to Rossi's the next day for some sort of communal preparation. But when he'd arrived at her place at noon he'd found that the other supplies had been transformed into a tasty, multi-colored buffet.

There were rows of mini sandwiches (tuna, egg and ham respectively), deviled eggs, three different salads (Greek, tri colored pasta and the expected potato), three different chip dips, a sliced cheese and fruit plate and some kind of dessert made out of layers of chocolate pudding, lady fingers and cool whip.

Though he wasn't much for sweets, Hotch had to admit that whatever the thing in the glass bowl was, it looked really good! Actually everything looked really good. But it was a ridiculous amount of food, so when he'd walked in to see all the trays and salad bowls lined up on the counter for a second he'd almost made a joke.

But then he saw that mixture of pride and nerves on her face as she fixed one rogue toothpick that was out of alignment in the ham sandwiches. Seeing that look . . . and suddenly realizing just how hard she'd worked . . . he didn't have the heart to even give her a good natured ribbing. Instead he'd just flashed a dimple and told her that it all looked delicious.

The smile she gave him in return for the compliment was enough to pop his second dimple out of hiding.

And he hadn't wanted to ruin the moment so he missed his chance to ask her exactly why it was that she'd done as much as she had. She was clearly nervous about forgetting something and he'd been afraid of making her more anxious or self conscious by directing a spotlight on the matter.

So he still didn't know why she was basically catering, but there had been no doubt in Hotch's mind as he'd filled up the back of his jeep that she'd definitely covered everything that needed to be covered for your basic American cook out.

Well, except of course the meats. But Hotch assumed that Dave had those covered at least. At least he hoped he did, after all it was his house for Christ's sake.

Though . . . Hotch shot an amused glance over to Emily sitting next to him . . . if she insisted that they had to stop and pick up a side of brontosaurus he would not be at all surprised.

Seeing his passenger still staring intently at the slip of paper in her hands, Hotch tried to distract her from yet ANOTHER rundown of her party supplies.

Good mood or not, he wasn't sure if he had the patience for another review of Reid's favorite type of pickles or JJ's dietary needs and restrictions. So he shot Emily a quick dimple as he made an overdue observation.

"You look very nice today."

He'd meant to tell her that at the apartment but he'd been sidetracked by the mountains of food. But she did look really good. She had on a bright yellow, above the knee sundress with those little spaghetti strap things, and her hair was pulled back from her face in a barrette that matched the dress.

Overall he was of the opinion, that . . . objectively speaking . . . she looked exceptionally pretty today.

Not that he could come out and actually say THOSE words though. Their little off duty personal friendship had become very important to him . . . and it was moving steadily forward . . . but he wasn't sure if he was ready to be quite so explicitly expressive with his opinions on this topic.

Simply acknowledging aloud his appreciation of her physical appearance was a step for him. That's the kind of thing that in the past he'd have kept to himself unless convention dictated that he say something to her simply to be polite.

This . . . he nodded firmly to himself . . . this was progress.

Emily turned to give Hotch a shy smile, "thanks," she self-consciously ran her hand over the skirt of her sundress as she said softly, "I bought it a couple months ago but I haven't really had any place to wear it yet."

Though she had gone to a couple of cookouts since the weather got hot . . . around here that was generally early May . . . but it was a cheerful dress and honestly, between what had happened in New York and then at the compound, she hadn't been feeling particularly cheerful for most of the spring.

The last few weeks had been better though. She was sure that part of it was just that time was passing. But also . . . she shot a quick glance over to the man at her side . . . part of it was Hotch.

Her deepening friendship with him had been a source of genuine happiness for her. It was distracting her from her other problems, pulling her out of her little funk. And she knew that it had been doing a lot for him as well.

For one thing it wasn't that difficult now for her to coax a real smile out of him. And for another he'd stopped making even a token grumble when she made him stop working and take a break with her.

It was clear that he enjoyed their time together as much as she did.

He was of course still subdued by nature, but it pleased her so much to see that he wasn't quite as sad anymore. Her eyes crinkled as she shot him another quick look . . . he had become a really good friend and it made her happy to see these little changes in him.

As Hotch took another left, Emily realized that they'd turned onto the residential street that led to Dave's cul de sac. It had been six months since she'd last been there and as she peered out the window she realized how different the neighborhood looked now than it had at Christmas.

But of course that was mostly the lack of plastic frostys on the front lawns and creepy red candles in the windows. Now everywhere she looked it was just bright green grass and shrubbery offset by splashes of red, white and blue in both flags and decorative banners hanging from the houses.

Emily bit her lip as her gaze caught sight of the red star hanging in the front window of one of the homes. And then a second later her eyes started to sting as she saw something else . . . a whole slew of yellow ribbons . . . in all different shades, both bright and fading . . . wrapped around an oak tree in front of the same house.

Somebody had been away for a long time.

As many years as the wars went on, seeing those ribbons and stars still made her terribly sad. Or perhaps it was just the number of years that had passed where these rituals were still necessary was what made her sad.

Either way . . . she discreetly wiped the corner of her eye . . . she was grateful for the sunglasses so Hotch wouldn't see her tearing up for no apparent reason in the middle of a perfectly lovely Friday afternoon.

In an effort to distract herself from her unexpected melancholy Emily turned to Hotch and asked a question she'd meant to ask earlier.

"So," she cleared her throat as she tucked her list back into her bag, "have you been to Dave's since Christmas?"

That was a fun night. Well, the time she'd spent with Hotch was fun. And she knew that he had felt the same way, which was probably the only reason that she'd been able to convince him . . . with only six minutes of cajoling which she felt was more out of his habit of saying no than anything else . . . that he should take off the whole day from work and spend it with her at Dave's.

After all, she'd pointed out, it was a federal holiday so he wasn't technically supposed to be working anyway. Though she suspected he might have reneged slightly on his agreement to stay home and had gone into the office for a couple of hours this morning. But if he had, at least he hadn't been late picking her up. And he hadn't set a maximum number of hours of attendance either so she was pretty sure that he was going to try and have a good time today.

"Um," Hotch twisted his jaw as he thought for a second, "yes actually, once. Dave insisted I come over to try his new," Hotch rolled his eyes, "_illegal_, Cuban cigars."

That was just after the divorce had become final and Dave was up his ass every week to do something. Hotch had finally agreed to come over just to shut him up.

Emily chuckled, "illegal Cubans, I'm surprised you didn't confiscate them and report Dave to OPR."

"Actually," Hotch tipped his head, "I . . ."

But he didn't get to finish his sentence before he was interrupted by Emily's exclamation.

"SHUT _**UP**_!" Emily yelled as she smacked his arm, "tell me that you did NOT turn Rossi in to OPR!"

Hotch shot Emily a look as he responded drolly, "well, Prentiss, which do you prefer? That I shut up or I finish my original sentence?"

Ah yes . . . he thought sarcastically . . . one of the unexpected perks to their deepened personal relationship . . . once again having a woman in his life who felt free to tell him to shut up.

Very nice.

Emily rolled her eyes at his dramatics before huffing in exasperation, "just answer the damn question, _sir_."

She'd passed the point in their relationship where Emily felt the need to tack a sir onto anything to get away with giving him shit. No, now she mostly did it just to bust his balls.

Like now.

After the little mocking '_sir_' Hotch decided to give her another moment before he answered her question. He could screw with her about as easily now as she could screw with him and he could see her getting impatient. He broke his silence right before he knew she was ready to smack him again.

Those girly hits actually hurt!

"I of course did NOT turn Rossi into OPR," he said drily, "I _did_ however remove the cigars from the humidor before I left his house." Hotch's lips twitched as he started telling her the story.

"I waited until he went to the bathroom before I took them, and then the next morning he stormed into my office and . . ." he huffed, "well, let's just say that all seven words you can't say on television were used ten times over."

As Emily started to chuckle Hotch continued, "so I responded quite seriously that they were illegal imports, contraband and that most likely they'd have to be destroyed because he was an FBI agent for Christ's sake and he should have known better than to knowingly violate international trade bans."

That was his payback for Rossi ball busting him into coming over to begin with . . . it was his life, he'd handle it how he saw fit. And then of course when he'd arrived Rossi starting telling him that he knew a hot redhead working in the CO's Office on base.

Like he was going out with one of Dave's side dish tarts! A discarded one no less!

Emily laughed, "what did he do?"

See, now this was the part of Hotch that other people didn't get to see. THIS Hotch was the one that had become her new close friend.

Hotch squinted slightly as he thought back, then he snorted, "told me that if I so much as singed the labels that he'd tell Strauss that I'd confessed to him that I believed that the source of all our difficulties was unrequited sexual tension and now that I was divorced I was planning on declaring my intentions."

He rolled his eyes . . . jackass.

"EWWW!" Emily grimaced, "that's just WRONG!"

Hotch and Strauss, that was just . . . YUCK! Actually, as far as Emily was concerned Strauss was asexual. Though she knew that she had reproduced Emily had decided that was via some sort of cloning technique.

"Yes," Hotch wrinkled his nose distastefully, "that was my response as well."

The frightening thing was, he'd known that Dave was fully capable of carrying out such a threat. And that would have made the rest of Hotch's days . . . post an extremely awkward/mortifying HR sit down . . . just a living hell.

"So what did you do?" Emily asked as she pushed her sunglasses back on her head and turned to look at him in amusement.

Dave and Hotch going mano a mano in a psychological throw down. She'd have given money to have been a fly on the wall to see those poker faces.

"What could I do," he huffed, "I knew it wasn't an idle threat, so I rolled my eyes and told him when he got home to check out the third shelf in his pantry," he shot Emily a look, "that's where I'd hidden them when he was in the bathroom."

Emily grinned, "so you didn't actually take them out of the house?"

"Christ no!" Hotch shook his head vehemently as he shot back in disbelief. "Do you know how valuable those were? He got them as a birthday present from a former girlfriend who had also been a KGB double agent back in the 80s when Dave was sleeping with her. And _SHE_ got them from Castro himself!" Hotch sighed as he shook his head, "trust me, if I'd taken them out of the house and _lost_ them somewhere, having Strauss file a sexual harassment suit against me would have been the least painful measure of retaliation from him."

Though Dave couldn't take Hotch in a physical matchup, there was no doubt that the other man could make him suffer.

And regardless of who had come out on top in that match-up, given the two minutes of abject panic in Rossi's eyes when he'd thought they'd actually been secured as evidence, Hotch still felt the whole endeavor had been more than worth it.

"KGB double agent mistress," Emily huffed, "only Dave could have such a good story to go along with a box of stogies," Then a thought occurred to her and she shook her head in amused bewilderment, "wait, though wasn't Dave married back in the 80s?"

"What's your point?" Hotch asked flatly.

Like a wedding ring had kept his zipper up? When did Emily become so naive?

Then Emily started to chuckle, "so the KGB mistress . . ."

Hotch interrupted, "led directly to the _first_ separation in marriage number two."

Her mouth quivering, Emily's gaze shifted to look out the window to Dave's enormous house just ahead.

"God I love that man."

/*/*/*/*/*

Rossi's ears perked up as he heard a car in the driveway.

Guests.

He handed off the tongs to his next door neighbor . . . Stuart had been chomping at the bit to try out Dave's new custom made BBQ pit anyway . . . and headed out of the pit/patio area to go see who had arrived.

Hopefully it was Emily because half of his neighbors had shown up early . . . and given that this whole party had been Emily's idea she'd told him that she'd bring all the food . . . so Dave didn't have much to feed anyone at present besides cocktail olives and maraschino cherries.

He'd just put the first burgers on to cook five minutes ago.

Though he'd been planning a quiet holiday, of course as soon as Emily had asked him, Dave had readily agreed to host a get together. She didn't have a yard so a cookout was a no go at her place and she thought it would be nice . . . after their horrendous spring . . . to get everyone together for a fun day to officially kick off a new season and put the last one behind them.

Dave had wholeheartedly agreed.

But even though it was essentially her party, he wasn't about to let her pay for the whole thing, so he'd tried to give her his credit card to buy supplies.

Of course she wouldn't hear of it though. She said the party was her idea and she didn't feel right taking any of his money to pay for an event that he wouldn't be throwing if not for her.

Dave hadn't been happy about this decision . . . the royalties from his last book alone were more than she made in a year . . . but she'd been insistent. He'd finally bartered her down to letting him buy the meat and rolls because it would be easier to transport thirty pounds of dead cow and chicken straight from the Costco to his refrigerator. She'd reluctantly acknowledged his logic, though she'd still tried to pay for it.

He'd flat out refused her offer of cash with a scowl and a "not a chance in hell Prentiss." So she'd shoved her wallet back into her bag with a huff. Then Dave had waited until she went to the ladies room before he went back and hid a hundred bucks into the back of said wallet safely tucked behind a stack of credit cards that he'd heard her tell JJ she wasn't allowed to touch for the next three months.

So Dave knew that she'd find the cash eventually and she'd never know it came from him. She'd think she tucked it there herself one day and then forgotten. Which was definitely for the best, because Dave was quite sure that she'd serve Mr. Franklin back to him on the toe of her boot if she knew what he'd done.

And as he came around the corner of the house now, Dave grinned at the object of his musings as he saw her filling Hotch's arms with stacks of big yellow Tupperware bowls.

"Does he do windows too Prentiss?" Rossi asked as he walked up behind them, "because you know good help is so hard to find and I've got an upstairs bay that really is a bear to clean."

Hotch shot him a dirty look as Emily spun around, "hey Dave!" Then she started to chuckle when she saw his blue and white checked '_Kiss the Cook_' apron with the big red puckered lips on it.

"Wow, this very nice," she pointed at his chest, "both classy, AND patriotic."

Only Dave.

"Thank you, but it's not just for show," Dave put his cheek out, "these are house rules."

Emily started to laugh as she leaned up to kiss him.

"Is it just women," she asked as she pulled back with a twinkle in her eye, "or are you expecting a little sugar from Hotch too?"

The two men looked at each other, and when Hotch spotted the smirk forming on Dave's face he shot him an eyebrow, "so help me God Dave if you try it you'll be removing chunks of potato salad from at least three orifices."

That's all he needed today, Rossi planting one on him and having that moment in time captured for all posterity by Emily's cell phone.

She'd probably make it into a Christmas card.

Rossi barked a laugh simultaneous with Emily slapping Hotch's arm, "hey, don't mess up my potato salad! Be a real man and hit him with your fist!"

God, since when did she have to teach him how to fight?

"Really Hotch," Rossi mimicked Emily's tone, "be a real man and hit me with your . . . OW! PRENTISS!"

She'd just slugged him in the ARM!

Hotch's mouth quivered at the punch as he saw Emily shoot Dave a look.

"Hard to believe that after three ex-wives you didn't see _that_ coming." She stated drily.

Apparently forty plus years of practice relationships STILL did _not_ make perfect.

Dave stared at Emily for a moment before he smiled, "you look really pretty today honey. You should wear that color more often."

Though his intended target of mockery was Hotch, obviously Emily thought he was taking a shot at her as well. Of course he was not . . . the woman still had custody of his lunch and Dave was doing nothing to jeopardize it's safe delivery up to the patio . . . but in such a situation it always best to just move past the moment with a well placed suck up.

THAT was what Rossi had learned after three ex-wives!

Emily stared at Dave for a moment before she rolled her eyes at him. Of course Dave then waggled his eyebrows at her in response. She tried keeping a straight face but when he winked at her, her lips started to twitch, and she'd ended up snorting, "nice save Rossi."

Seeing his triumphant grin . . . and Hotch's eyeroll a millisecond later . . . Emily hid her own smile as she turned back to the jeep and pulled out the tray of sandwiches. When she turned around again she held her arms out to Dave.

"Please take these wherever they're going and don't use any of them as weapons along the way."

As an amused Dave took that from her arms, Emily looked back at Hotch, "can you carry anything else right now?"

Just before Dave arrived Emily had piled the three big salad bowls into his arms, but she didn't know if he could take anything else without dropping it.

"If you loop the bags over my wrist," Hotch shifted the salads closer to his chest, "then I can take the soda too."

She frowned at him, "you'll break your arm."

That was six liters of sloshing liquid. Was he nuts?

But then Emily saw the look she was getting and she put up her hands in apology, "okay, okay," she turned to get the soda as she muttered drily, "my apologies for showing concern for your well being. I didn't realize you'd strapped on the titanium appendages today Inspector Gadget."

Sometimes he was so alpha stubborn it was just ridiculous.

Rossi snickered at her comment, then saw both of them shoot him the same glare and immediately jerked his head as he started walking backwards, "I'm just going to bring these around to the patio."

And then he hurried up the driveway before he got assaulted with one of the bottles of soda Emily was wielding like a club.

Emily watched Dave go before she lowered the bottle and turned back to Hotch with a smile.

"It's funny when he runs away."

Hotch's lips twitched slightly before he nodded, "yes it is. Now," he held his wrist out, "let's get moving. I can smell the grill from here and it's making me hungry."

"Okay, okay," Emily put the bottle back in the bag before she slipped it . . . plus ONE more bag . . . onto Hotch's arm. When she saw him about to open his mouth to point out that there was a third bag she shook her head, "no, that's enough. If you snap your wrist then I'm going to have to hire Cub Scouts to feed you and I've spent all my spare cash on this cookout today."

Hotch stared at Emily for a moment before his nose wrinkled in confusion.

"Why Cub Scouts? Why wouldn't you just hire a nurse?" Then Hotch realized the question he'd just asked and shook his head, "scratch that, I can't believe you just sucked me into one of your ridiculous conversations. Now," in an effort to regain his dignity for the moronic question he had just asked, Hotch morphed into chief persona as he started walking up the driveway, "come on," he called back, "I'd like to get this all up there in two trips so put some hustle in it Prentiss."

Emily rolled her eyes as Hotch disappeared the way of Dave.

"Yes dear," she muttered sarcastically as she turned back to the jeep.

Okay . . . she picked up her scrumptious three layered chocolate truffle with the Cointreau soaked lady fingers . . . come on pretty girl.

Emily cradled the dessert close to her chest as she turned to walk up the driveway.

'_We're going to a party.'_

_

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A/N 2: Again, tried to pull in different threads from the Girl story. For the life of me I cannot remember where it was I wrote that Dave had a 'kiss the cook' apron for this party. But I just remembered that one part so I knew it had to be in here. If anybody recalls where I wrote it, please tell me! For all these worlds, I don't usually forget things and for some reason that's not coming to me, but it's kind of bugging me that I can't remember._

_At least one, possibly two more chapters to this little whale of a tail. Originally I was planning on putting this up as one big piece, but once I hit 16,000 words :) it started getting a little cumbersome for proofing purposes. So, though it's done, it's being sliced into manageable bits and most likely I'll still be adding to it as I do the final polish on each set. That's why I don't know if it'll be one or two more. _

_And yes, I know I need to put up the last chapter of Making Spirits Bright too. But the warm weather was more conducive to writing the summer story than the winter one. I'm working on it though. You probably have noticed that I've been posting a bit more regularly this week, that's not a fluke! Yes, it is fortunate that I'd been plugging away on a bunch of crap for the last 3 weeks, but also, I'm now allowed to work on my real job from home! Let's all say YAY for the wonders of technology and remote access! Do you realize how much time you waste just coming and going from places? It's ridiculous. So for the summer months, I will definitely have much more time to write. Beyond that though, next week I'm moving back down below the Mason Dixon line and once I get settled I will start looking for regular, leave the house in matching shoes and socks everyday work again. Yes, I'm a glutton for punishment but this little remote access thing (though fabulous) is not exactly conducive to actually being a functioning member of society. It's helpful when writing to actually have ongoing life experiences! _

_Also, it does seem like the type of situation that if you let it go on for years on end and then one day you've got Richard Simmons knocking on your door staging an intervention to put down the Twinkies. So yeah, for those two reasons (my mental and physical well being) I'm only allowing myself a little sliver of this happy 'work at home' life. But let's all enjoy it while it lasts and I'll try to get as much writing crammed in this summer as I can!_

_**CM Season 5 Advertisers in the U.S. - Again, we can thank Paksiegurlie for taking the time to compile the list and being kind enough to share it!**_

_20th Century Fox (advertising A-Team movie)  
All State Insurance  
GlaxoSmithKlein (GSK)  
Ace Hardware  
AT&T wireless  
AstraZeneca  
Ally bank_

_Applebees_

_Hyundai  
Disney DVD  
Verizon Wireless  
Domino's Pizza_

_Lenscrafters_

_Home Depot_

_McDonalds_

_Wyeth (Advil)_

_Cisco_

_Chevy_

_Oceanspray_

_E-Trade_

_Panasonic_

_Acura_

_Progressive_

_Victoria's Secret  
Warner Bros (promoting Inception)_

_Subway_

_Kohl's  
T.J. Maxx  
Direct TV_

_AFLIAC_

_Apple (I-Pad)  
Post Cereal  
Hebrew National  
Microsoft (Windows 7)  
Smart Balance_

_Macy's_

_Ford_

_Johnsonville_

_Cibavision  
Intuit  
Outback Steakhouse_

_T-mobile_

_Unilever Foods (several products like Lipton Tea, Hellmanns/Best Foods Mayo)  
Best Buy  
Chase credit card_

_Sears_

_GM motors  
Pfizer pharmaceuticals  
Canon cameras  
Samsung_


	2. Lightning In A Pool Enclosure

**Author's Note**: A more crowd pleasing update :)

Chapter 2 at Rossi's BBQ. This was just got longer and longer on clean up so there will be three chapters here.

* * *

**Prompt Set #18 (May)**

**Show**: Cheers

**Title**: One Hugs, The Other Doesn't

**

* * *

Prompt Set #20 (July)**

**Show**: Family Ties

**Title**: Don't Know Much About History

* * *

**Lightning in a Pool Enclosure**

"Just once," Emily fluttered her lashes as she leaned over to whisper to Hotch, "_please_, for Prentiss."

"_No_ Prentiss!" Hotch hissed out of the side of his mouth as he tried to ignore the puppy dog eyes Emily was flashing at him, "I already told you that there are too many people around."

She was trying to get him to play The Lightning Round with her. And this was absolutely the wrong place for that type of discussion. It was one thing that he indulged her little 'getting to know each other' game when they were alone in the quad, but they were most definitely _not _alone right now. They were sitting in the middle of Dave's patio with over a dozen other people . . . team members included . . . within conversational reach.

Of course Hotch would have thought that those dozen plus people would have kept somebody as outgoing as Emily busy for awhile longer, but they'd only been at Dave's house for two hours and it seemed that she had exhausted her supply of conversation/patience with everyone but Hotch himself.

Five minutes ago she'd returned from making the rounds of the larger group of cook-out attendees, and ever since then she'd been needling him about playing her game. She was bored and through some leaps in logic that were beyond him, Emily claimed that was his fault.

Hotch shot her another look out of the corner of his eye . . . still fluttering her lashes.

Damn it. Up until her boredom had set in he'd actually been having a good time.

Okay . . . he mentally dialed it down . . . it wasn't that Emily's request/demand was 'ruining' his whole day or anything. But this was the first time that he'd had to break out a scowl in the last ninety minutes. And that's because overall . . . for a change . . . he'd been having a very "nice" day.

And then he reminded himself that most of the nice part of the day was due . . . and had thus far been spent . . . with the woman at his side.

After they'd hauled all of the food up to the house (three trips), they'd eaten (all of Emily's contributions were delicious), then they chatted with the team (Emily chatted, he piped up occasionally so as not to appear anti-social), Emily had eaten again (where the woman put the food he did not know) and then twenty minutes ago he had settled in with his second (and most likely last) beer of the day while she went off with her second wine cooler (yes, he had mocked her for the beverage choice) and played the Social Butterfly with Dave's blockmates.

Really everything in Hotch's world had been going so much better than usual, i.e. it was going "well," until Emily got her sudden flash that today was the perfect day to play a new Lightning Round.

Which was just . . . he shot her a solid glare slash headshake . . . NOT happening!

Seeing the look she was getting from Hotch, Emily rolled her eyes at him before flopping back in her chair with a huff.

Pain in the butt.

Really, God forbid anyone see him actually having "fun" with her . . . she took a swig of her twice ridiculed Exotic Berry . . . he might have to transfer to Buffalo. What was so stupid though was that she KNEW that if she could just get him started, that he'd really, genuinely HAVE fun!

He always did.

But she had just received his '_no f'ing way in hell Prentiss_' look so she knew that getting him to play with her right now was definitely not happening.

Her brow wrinkled as she took another sip . . . it was kind of weird that he'd been so emphatic about the no. Generally she'd noticed that he'd been getting more agreeable the more time they spent together. Mostly now she figured that he just protested out of some sort of muscle memory habit, which was how come she just didn't understand why he was being so damn stubborn today.

They were just hanging out and relaxing, obviously it was the PERFECT time for a Lightning Round!

Now properly irritated that he was being such a goof about this and ruining her nice plans, Emily decided to shoot Hotch a dirty look of her own. But she holstered it when she looked over to see him rubbing his hand across his mouth. That meant he was uncomfortable about something.

Her nose wrinkled . . . uncomfortable. Not pissed.

Huh.

She tried to process that in context . . . so he gives her the emphatic no and now he's stressing. And if he's stressing about saying no, that meant that he wasn't just saying no to be disagreeable.

There was another reason.

She mentally moved back from her irritation with him to look around the patio again. And this time seeing it through HIS eyes, she realized that he might have a _teensy tiny,_ itty bitty, little point about the setting.

There was kind of a crowd.

And . . . her features softened as the rest of her irritation melted . . . he didn't like crowds.

Generally they only played this game when they were totally alone out in the quad or off in the park. But right now the rest of the team . . . not to mention a dozen of Dave's neighbors . . . were only four feet away from them. And there was no way that they could play quietly enough that the others . . . as in JJ and Garcia specifically . . . wouldn't notice the rhythm of their conversation. And then they'd be piping up and joining in too.

Well, perhaps not JJ . . . Emily remembered that she and Will had just disappeared down to the awning so Jayje could get out of the sun . . . but Garcia absolutely would be ALL over them.

Emily's bit her lip as she looked back at Hotch.

And Hotch was so private that he'd be absolutely mortified if the rest of the group heard him telling her something personal. And Hotch would consider ANY information overheard, up to and including favorite ice cream (though that had previously been covered) to be personal information.

Damn . . . she felt a nice little wave of guilt start lapping away . . . she hated when it became clear that his default crankiness was actually masking a more sensitive personal problem. It made her feel badly for getting irritated with him. Not that she'd actually done anything _wrong_, but guilt knew nothing of the rules of logic.

Okay . . . she began to reassess the situation at hand . . . so she needed a compromise here. She needed to find a place to play their game (which she knew that he also enjoyed) and he wouldn't have to worry about anyone hearing them playing said game.

Emily turned her head slightly to scan the area of Dave's backyard in her visual range.

Now where should they go?

Her lip quirked up as she spotted the perfect location . . . that's it.

She leaned over to Hotch's chair again.

"We can move down to the pool and play there," she whispered. "See," she bumped his arm, "it's almost completely empty."

Nobody was down there right now except for a few of the neighbor kids. And they were obviously engrossed in their own pool activities so they certainly weren't going to pay the grownups any attention.

Hotch started to shoot Emily another look . . . saw The Eyes morph to a subtle version of The Pout . . . and ended up sighing as he turned his head to look at the pool enclosure.

Empty but for a couple of kids splashing around in the water . . . he stifled his groan . . . so now she had completely negated his reasons for objecting.

He turned back to Emily.

"Fine," he muttered as he stood up, "one round but that's it."

It's not that he disliked her game in principle, it was quite the opposite actually. Though he was loath to admit it to Emily, he'd grown to enjoy it. It was a different way to learn things about her. But he was just really worried that somebody ELSE . . . his gaze shot over to Dave and Morgan at the grill . . . like those two pains in the ass for instance . . . _catching_ him playing it with her. Because without a doubt if _that_ happened . . . he'd NEVER hear the end of it!

Dave especially would be a nightmare. Morgan at least Hotch could order to shut the hell up, but Dave was immune to that default tactic. But really, Hotch would like to see Dave say no to that pout of hers.

He scowled slightly to himself . . . it was worse than pulling a gun on him.

Hotch had himself on a nice little roll with his internal grumbling but all of that screeched to a halt when he looked down to see the grin that had spread across Emily's face. And then the next thing he knew she was squeezing his arm as she mouthed a silent, _'YAY!' _

His lips started to twitch . . . this was the other reason that she was impossible to say no to. She just got so excited about little things . . . she was a bit like Jack that way . . . and then to Hotch's chagrin he'd just find himself smiling back at her and doing whatever the hell she wanted him to do. And that was becoming a real problem for him.

If things kept going the way they were going, Emily was going to completely RUIN his reputation as a cranky son of a bitch!

Fortunately for him though that day had not yet arrived. And it also fortunate that he had DECADES of practice at being a cranky son of a bitch, so he managed a quick recovery from his untimely . . . Emily instigated . . . mirth. And once he'd wiped the starting outline of a smile off his face, he shot her a quick low wattage glare in an attempt . . . a rather futile one . . . to dim the wattage of HER grin before anybody else noticed it and asked her what she was so excited about.

God forbid she actually TELL them!

Seeing the look Hotch was throwing her, Emily attempted to stifle her outward good humor. If he wanted to make a low key escape then she'd oblige him.

Though it was a bit harder for her to go completely back to the Scrooge McDuck look than it was for him . . . yeah she'd seen his little smile . . . because she really she was just SO excited that he'd agreed to play!

They were already having a good day and this game just tickled her to death. _That's_ why she'd been trying so hard to get him to agree to play a round! Hopefully more than _A_ round, but she'd start with one and see where they ended up.

As they started out of the patio carrying just their drinks, Emily started to reach for Hotch's forearm for the short walk down to the pool enclosure. It was just a new habit that she'd gotten into when they were off duty . . . it made it easier to smack him when she wanted to direct his attention . . . but then she heard Garcia burst out laughing at something and Emily pulled her hand back.

That familiar mocking cackle which Emily knew was indicative of Garcia making fun of Reid for something . . . was what reminded Emily that Hotch would probably prefer that the entire planet didn't know how familiar she was with him.

Not that a hand on a forearm was all that familiar . . . it was actually more along the lines of a nineteenth century social custom among twenty-six year old 'spinster' virgins . . . but Hotch had his little bubble and if people saw that she'd now been allowed to penetrate his little bubble (and boy did that sound dirty in her head) that would definitely be a topic worthy of discussion.

So for the sake of their "reputation" she kept her hands to herself.

Unfortunately though, just as they stepped off the patterned stonework and onto the manicured lawn, Emily heard from behind her.

"Hey, where are you guys going?"

Garcia.

Now ordinarily Emily would feel a twinge of guilt at not extending an invitation to her friends to join them . . . but not today.

She and Hotch had spent almost ninety minutes socializing with the group at large . . . a record for Hotch . . . so Emily didn't feel the slightest bit guilty about sneaking off with him now. It was their day off too so they were entitled to a few minutes alone.

So as the two of them turned back, she spoke for both of them.

"Just stretching our legs, we'll be back in a bit," then she flashed a grin at Penelope, "God knows I can't trust you alone with a grill full of twelve inch wieners."

It was a slightly off color joke to distract Garcia from further questions . . . slightly off color jokes of course being Garcia's favorite kind . . . but their technology assistant _had_ actually scarfed down FOUR of those hot dogs since her arrival, so most likely the other guests would just take Emily's remark at face value.

But then the face value inference was shot immediately to hell by Garcia. A woman who just couldn't let a good double entendre go to waste. So she immediately quipped back.

"Don't you worry sweetie pie, I'm full for now. Kevin just fed me some of his giant wiener and I am _stuffed_."

Emily started to chuckle but then she completely lost it when she saw Garcia begin to turn bright red at the realization that she'd just made that TOTALLY off color joke with Hotch standing right next to Emily.

"Sorry sir, I uh," Garcia started to stammer, "forgot that you were uh . . . uh . . ."

She was drawing a complete blank as to how to finish that sentence. And then she stopped even trying when she heard Kevin begin to choke.

Choke on the giant wiener that he had indeed been eating just as Emily and Hotch walked passed.

Oh. Dear. God.

A tiny squeak escaped Penelope's throat as she saw Kevin turning blue, and for a moment she was frozen completely in place . . . it was amazing how quickly a good joke turns bad.

Fortunately for her numero uno chico, the others were still capable of movement and all team members in the immediate vicinity . . . Hotch, Emily, Derek and Reid respectively . . . dove to help Kevin. Reid though was the closest and two sharp pounds on the back sent Kevin's lodged piece of hot dog flying through the air.

It of course landed on Hotch's shoe.

Though Garcia knew that was hardly the most disgusting thing that her serial killer chasing boss had ever seen, watching that masticated piece of ick land with a 'plop,' finally broke her paralysis and she dove to pick it up.

"Really sorry sir," she muttered frantically as she grabbed the hot dog remnants before polishing his black Addidas with her napkin, "really, really, REALLY, sorry."

More sorry than she could ever say actually. And as Garcia scurried off to find the trash and wash the grossness off her fingers, she was wondering if Hallmark perhaps made a card that to cover the apology for your boyfriend's accidental regurgitation of his lunch on your boss' shoe.

If they didn't she was definitely going to drop them an email.

Hotch watched Garcia run off muttering to herself before turning to see that both Emily and Morgan were now doubled over with tears running down their faces. Reid had stopped laughing to explain the HISTORY of the Heimlich maneuver to one of Dave's comely neighbors . . . his flirting still needed some work . . . so Hotch took one last look at Kevin.

Bright red and gasping for air, but clearly his windpipe was clear and his lungs working so Hotch determined that he was not in need of any additional resuscitative measures. That small matter cleared up, he looked again to the woman beside him.

Starting to get her hysterics under control.

"Come on Prentiss," he rolled his eyes as he turned and started walking away, "you've done enough damage for now."

"Me!" Emily responded indignantly as she tried to stop laughing, "what did I do?"

How did all of THAT become _her_ fault!

But Hotch didn't answer her. He didn't even slow his stride as he kept crossing Dave's enormous . . . freakishly emerald green though it was the peak of summer . . . lawn. So she hurried after him, flip flopping in her flip flips as she left the others up on the patio.

"Garcia's the one that said it!" Emily defended herself as she wiped her hand across her face, "and it was SO not my fault that Kevin was mawing that foot long at the exact moment we were walking out!"

Hearing Emily's pitiful attempts at deflection of any responsibility for that mess, Hotch stopped walking as he turned to shoot her a look.

"You knew _full_ well the reaction your comment was going to elicit Agent Prentiss."

Like Penelope _'HR mandated attendee at three sexual harassment seminars a year'_ Garcia wasn't going to volley THAT remark back to her?

Their gazes locked for a second before Hotch raised an eyebrow and Emily tipped her head.

"Well," her lips quivered slightly, "perhaps an inappropriate response of some kind from Garcia was not _completely_ unexpected. But I could not have anticipated all the rest of it."

Kevin nearly dying and the hot dog projectile landing on Hotch's foot was a HILARIOUSLY unexpected bonus though.

Hotch stared at Emily for a moment longer before giving a judgmental grunt. And with a shake of his head he continued across the grass.

Mrs. O'Leary's cow probably made the same argument.

Knowing that grunt was not good . . . and allowing that some vaguery of apology might be in order . . . Emily scurried to catch up again. Unfortunately the damn flip flops were not so good for chasing him, so after a slight skid which was stopped when she careened into his shoulder, Emily cleared her throat.

"I apologize for whatever contribution I might have made to Kevin's near death experience and you getting chewed up food spit on you," her brow went up as she touched his arm, "'k?"

She was not about to get in trouble with him over this. God knows she was bound to do something way worse before the day was over and she definitely needed to have a clean slate before that happened.

Hotch's eyebrow went slightly before he tipped his head.

"Okay."

Relieved that she was out of the doghouse, but disappointed that she hadn't gotten a smile out of him, as they closed the last few feet of the grassy incline down to the fenced in pool, Emily added a mopey.

"I was just trying to have a little fun," insert dramatic sigh, "I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

Yes, she was laying it on thick. But she was trying to guilt Hotch into doing an "oh, it's okay Prentiss, don't worry about it." She'd found that a little tweaking of the violin strings was the best way to wipe her slate clean.

Knowing that he was being manipulated, yet somehow powerless to stop himself from allowing it to happen, Hotch murmured back.

"It's okay Prentiss," he patted her arm, "just forget it."

Emily smiled to herself . . . all better. But as Hotch undid the latch on the gate, she couldn't stop herself from adding one more thing.

"You should know," she bumped his shoulder, "that the fun I have with you is," she shot him a little grin, "way funner than the fun I have with the others."

Though she'd enjoyed that little run in with Garcia immensely, lately Emily had found that she had a much better time just hanging out with Hotch than doing things with anyone else.

Maybe it was because this aspect of their relationship was still so new that she enjoyed his company so much. Maybe it was just that . . . her fingertips brushed over his forearm . . . maybe it was something else. Regardless, it was probably best that she didn't over analyze.

It might ruin it.

Pausing for a moment to look down at Emily, Hotch was about to respond with mockery to her "way funner" remark. But then he saw the smile that she was giving him . . . it was soft.

Sincere.

His eyes crinkled slightly as he moved his hand up to her shoulder, ushering her through the gate.

"You're a pretty good time too Prentiss," Hotch said quietly as they stepped onto the warm concrete.

The best time he'd had in years actually. And he was saying that even though his divorce had only been finalized a few months ago. But it's not like the last couple years of his marriage had been happy ones. Looking back now, Hotch could see that so much of that time with Haley had been spent fighting. Fighting about little things and fighting about big things, but really beneath it all they were simply fighting over her growing resentment of his job.

Her growing resentment of him.

So it was really nice now to spend personal time with somebody and not feel like the slightest mention of work was going to result in them breaking into world war three.

Not to say that he and Emily didn't argue, but it wasn't real fighting. More like bickering. They just occasionally drove each other nuts . . . and of course she'd been driving him nuts for years . . . but those disagreements always ended with a joke or a smile.

They were never a big deal.

Basically his alone time with Emily was no stress time. And no stress time was something that was in very short supply for him.

Speaking of no stress time, by unspoken agreement he and Emily both paused for a moment to watch the children playing in the pool. Three girls in their early teens . . . they'd barely hit puberty . . . laughing and yelling as they played Marco Polo.

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly before he looked over to see Emily was smiling as well.

Emily felt a burst of happiness at seeing the simple joy of the young. She used to love that game, though she hadn't played it in at least thirty years.

And then the happiness began to fade.

_Thirty years. Man, she really was getting old._

In an effort to distract herself from what was suddenly a depressing reminder of her (very) long lost youth, Emily suddenly pointed over to the corner of the large enclosure.

"Let's sit over there," she started walking, "out of the splash zone."

Knowing that Hotch would follow after her, Emily started picking out her deck chair as she crossed the concrete. A quick glance over her shoulder assured her that Hotch was indeed a few steps behind so she slipped off her flip flops and sat down in her chosen seat.

The one she picked had a prettier cushion.

As she settled back against the blue flowery pattern Emily took a sip of her wine cooler and sighed . . . okay, this was nice. They should have come down here before.

It was definitely much more relaxing than the patio area. And then Emily took note of the fact that her Lightning Round partner hadn't yet sat down beside her. So as she shielded her eyes with her free hand, Emily tipped her head back to see Hotch standing over her.

Her brow wrinkled.

"What's the matter?"

He didn't answer her. Instead he leaned down and pulled something out of her hair. As he flicked it over the fence Emily saw that the something he'd pulled out was very long and very green and very wriggly.

"EWWW!"

Emily's whole face contorted in disgust as her hand shot up to pat her head.

"Are there any MORE?"

GROSS! GROSS! GROSS!

"No," Hotch slipped off his sunglasses as he replied calmly, "he was a singular trespasser."

Hotch had assumed that Emily would have been happy to hear that there was only the one. But it quickly became clear that she was completely ignoring his response as he saw her lean over and flip her hair upside down.

"Prentiss," he stated drolly as she yanked out her barrette and began running her fingers through the now loose tresses, "I don't believe he was carrying any weapons on him."

Christ, she was patting her hair down like he planted a nine millimeter!

Emily shot Hotch a dirty look and then she realized that he couldn't actually see it because her hair was in her face. So she shook it one more time, flipped it back and then turned to shoot him the look again.

Not that his remark was worthy of a double glare, but he should get at least one good one. Of course it being Hotch she was dealing with, the glare didn't seem to have any affect anyway. All he did was roll his eyes as he sat down in the seat next to her.

"You done now?"

"Yes," Emily gave him a saccharine sweet smile as she reclipped her barrette, "I am." Then she noticed that he was staring at her hair again.

"Another worm?" She asked worriedly.

"No," he shook his head, "you just look ridiculous."

Seeing the pout that resulted from that remark, Hotch immediately regretted the comment. He hadn't intended to hurt her feelings.

His features softened as he leaned forward and put his hand out.

"Come here, I'll fix it."

Emily looked at him for a moment before sliding over a little and tipping her head towards him. Then he undid her barrette and began smoothing down her hair with his fingers.

"It's just a little bit messy," he said quietly as he tried to tame the wild strands.

After the double flip . . . he rolled his eyes internally . . . slash weapons pat down, her hair was actually a bit more than just a little bit messy. It was sticking out all over like she was the Bride of Frankenstein.

All she needed was a white Pepe Le Pew streak to complete the look.

That was the reality of the situation. But given that the "ridiculous" had resulted in a pout, the Bride of Frankenstein analogy was likely to result in a full on cold shoulder or actual hurt feelings.

Women could be rather sensitive about their hair.

And if either Angry Emily or Genuinely Hurt Emily made an appearance he was going to feel terrible. It would completely ruin the afternoon for both of them.

So after he'd deFrankensteined her hair, Hotch restricted his comments to a murmured, "all right, now hold still," and he slipped her barrette back into her hair where she'd had it earlier.

Then he tipped his head slightly to look at her.

Okay . . . he nodded to himself . . . now she no longer looked like she had a leading role in a Lon Chaney film.

"Okay."

When she pulled back, Emily's fingers ghosted over the sides of her new do as she gave Hotch a little smile.

"Thanks."

Though he'd kind of hurt her feelings at first, she'd forgiven him the ridiculous remark once he offered to fix it for her. That was sweet that he even cared enough to do that.

He could have just let her walk around looking like an idiot.

"Yeah well," starting to feel a little embarrassed at her gratitude, Hotch quipped, "I'm the one that has to look at you."

That particular deflective technique he'd learned from Emily . . . when in doubt, make a joke. And as he saw her mouth quiver right before a grin spread across her face, he couldn't stop his own eyes from crinkling in response.

Of course . . . Emily squeezed his fingers as she sat back in her chair . . . he got embarrassed and had to deflect. Still though, it was a sweet gesture, so she shot him a wink before she let go of his hand. Then she took another sip of her drink, crossed her legs and tugged her skirt down over her knees.

"Okay, you ready?"

"I think so," his eyebrow went up, "but do I need to flip my hair first too. Is that a new rule? Because I just got a hair cut so I don't think I'm going to get the same wind velocity when I whip it that you did."

Emily's lips twitched before she rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she huffed, "yes, I acknowledge that my response to the worm was just this side of dramatic."

Seeing his eyebrow go up another notch she tipped her head, "okay, just THAT side of dramatic. I apologize, but the thing was like two inches long," her nose wrinkled, "it reminded me of a baby snake and you know," she bit her lip as her eyes dropped down, "I don't like snakes."

Her voice faded at the end. But of course her extreme disdain for slithery reptiles was no secret at all. Hotch had known that one since long before their summer sitdowns.

Remembering that snakes were Emily's biggest phobia, Hotch felt a little twinge of guilt for needling her.

"I know you don't like them," he said softly.

Emily's eyes slowly came up to his and Hotch looked at her for a moment before a faint smile touched her lips and he reached over to pat her arm.

"Okay," he pulled his hand back with a little smile, "let's do this."

/*/*/*/*/*/

As Emily had expected, she was easily able to convince Hotch to play more than one round. And she was delighted to note that as she quickly peeked at her watch . . . 2:53 . . . they were on round five. They'd covered among other things, culinary interests, cartoon characters and vintages of wine. Emily was now moving back to some basics that she felt remiss in not covering previously.

"Sylvester or Tweety?"

"Sylvester."

"Kermit or Fozzie?"

"Fozzie."

"Number five or number six?"

His mouth twitched, "number five."

Last week it was the letter L or the letter M.

He picked L.

"Sweet tea or ice coffee?"

"Sweet tea."

Her lip quirked up, "your Southern's showing sir. Okay, Dickens or Joyce?"

Hotch's nose wrinkled for a moment before he nodded decisively, "Dickens."

Though neither were exactly 'cheerful' authors, _A Tale of Two Cities_ was one of his favorite books.

"Correct," Emily rolled her eyes, "Joyce is so depressing he could drive a nun to drink. Okay," she shot Hotch a look, "now this is an important one, Philadelphia Story or Bringing Up Baby?"

Of course Bringing Up Baby was one of the finest films ever made. Hopefully Hotch was aware of this irrefutable fact.

His eyes crinkled at the question. A few weeks earlier he had learned of Emily's love for Cary Grant, and as he was the star of both films, Hotch was fairly certain that he couldn't give a _wrong_ answer here. Because make no mistake, even though these were personal preference questions, Emily would indeed pass judgment if his answer was not to her satisfaction. But on this one he was quite sure that he knew what she wanted to hear.

"Bringing Up Baby," he said with a wink.

Katherine Hepburn's character reminded him of Emily. Clever, witty, and . . . his eyes crinkled . . . just a little bit unconventional.

And as he saw the soft smile he received from the pretty brunette in front of him, Hotch knew that he had indeed chosen 'correctly.'

"Excellent choice," Emily said quietly before she cleared her throat and asked the next one.

"Pretzels or potato chips?"

"Potato chips."

"Tits or ass?"

Hotch opened his mouth and then scowled, "next question."

The frightening thing was, he'd started to answer the damn question!

Seeing the look on his face, Emily burst out laughing.

"It was worth a try," she said with a chuckle, "now technically that was a buzzworthy response but I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself."

"How big of you," Hotch responded sarcastically.

Feigning ignorance of the tone, Emily nodded back to him.

"Yes, I thought so as well. So bonus question, sky diving or scuba diving."

"Uh . . ." his brow wrinkled, "scuba."

"BZZZZT! OH, too slow sir!" She grinned as she saw the wrinkle turn to a scowl, "and you know what happens when you hesitate? You LOSE!"

Yes, she was being deliberately obnoxious in her baiting of him. But he was really too funny when he got all worked up and yelled at her over something ridiculous.

Hotch stared at Emily for a moment before he huffed out his breath and decided to bite back the comment that was on the tip of his tongue.

He wasn't giving her the satisfaction.

Instead he simply rolled his neck.

"Last round, my turn."

Emily smirked at him . . . the Jedi power was strong today. Oh well . . . she rubbed her hands together in anticipation . . . she still had her chance to break him here.

"Ready when you are sir!"

"All right," Hotch closed his eyes for a second to wipe her little attempts at button pushing out of his brain, he knew that was a tactical move on her part and he needed to focus. Then he looked back at her.

"Jazz or Big Band?"

She smiled, "Big Band, I love Glenn Miller. My grampa has his whole collection on the original 45s. They sound so much better than the CDs and he always lets me listen to them when I go down to visit them in Birmingham."

Hotch's eyes crinkled . . . this was why he liked her game so much. He has asked one question and learned five new things about her life. It was the easiest interrogation he'd ever conducted.

"Okay," he tapped his empty beer bottle, "circles or squares?"

He knew how much she enjoyed the occasional ridiculous question.

Emily grinned, "circles of course, they go on forever."

His lips twitched for a second before he got that under control.

"Pants or skirts?"

That one came to him earlier when he saw that she was wearing a sundress today. In all the time he'd known her he could probably list the number of times he'd seen her in a skirt on one hand. And he was including both her first day in the BAU and the time they met originally fifteen years ago when she was wearing the red sundress. So now he was curious if she wore pants because she preferred them, or if it was simply a matter of practicality.

The answer would give him some additional insight on her personality.

"Well," Emily's brow wrinkled, "I prefer pants because of work and I guess I kind of wear them off duty out of habit. But," she looked down, brushing imaginary wrinkles out of her skirt, "I like this dress," she looked up at him with a soft smile, "I used to wear dresses all the time when I was little . . . I like pretty things. But you can't wear pretty clothes and do this job."

Hotch's eyes were soft as he looked over at Emily biting her lip . . . this right here was another reason why he'd grown to enjoy her little game. She would let her guard down and really answer his questions . . . not just with an empirical statement of fact, but openly and without artifice, allowing him little glimpses at her soul.

And looking into her eyes for a moment he forgot what he was going to ask next, because so many other questions came to him in that moment. But they weren't ones he could ask now.

They weren't either ors.

He wanted to know why she did this work, why she'd chosen to come to the Bureau, why she'd fought so hard to be in the BAU.

Why she stayed.

But those weren't questions he could ask. Not only because they didn't fit the format of today's informational exchange, but also because he had learned over the last few years that Emily carried some dark shadows with her. He did as well, and he knew that like him, those shadows had played more than a passing role in her decisions to choose this life. So it wasn't right to probe tender spots that she wasn't ready to discuss.

He wouldn't appreciate it if she did that to him, so he certainly wouldn't do it to her.

But then he thought of one question that he could ask that would give him a glimpse of the reasons behind her choice to do this work.

"FBI Agent or CIA Officer?" He asked quietly.

That was something he had wondered about off and on over the last few years. He knew that she and her father had a good relationship . . . she spoke of him regularly, fondly, and with clear admiration. So why didn't she follow him into the Agency? Whatever her demons were, she probably could have found the same outlet for them there as she had here. And Agency work probably wouldn't come with quite so much heartache on the side.

"Oh . . . um," Emily blinked at the question, "huh."

Well, she wasn't expecting that one. Essentially why had she chosen the Bureau and not the Agency?

Her eyes dropped down as she thought about it for a second, then she looked back at Hotch.

"FBI Agent. I love my father and I always respected what he did but," she rubbed her hands across her thighs, "his work is . . . grand," she tipped her head, "you know what I mean? It's about big things, big ideas, political movements, the rise and fall of governments. And if they do their jobs right, then people stay safe and they live their lives never knowing about all of the wars that didn't happen, all of the bombs that didn't go off, all of the might have beens that were averted," she sighed, "and I guess in some ways that's true for us too, but . . . our job is small. It's black and white. There are victims and there are villains. We avenge one by capturing the other. For all the terrible things we see, it's still . . . easy. But," she shook her head, "battling ideologies and zealots, that goes on for decades. I couldn't do that. I'd never know, well, I'd never know if I was making a difference. If . . ." her voice started to catch and she cleared it, "if my work mattered," she looked up at Hotch with a sad smile, "and that's why I chose this and not that."

Hotch stared at her for a moment before he nodded, reaching over to squeeze her fingers.

"I understand."

It wasn't an analogy that he'd made before, but it was definitely one that he could relate to. Because she was right, as difficult as their work was psychologically, on a basic _moral_ level . . . their job was easy. Hunting down monsters was a black and white world.

Yes, occasionally they came across someone like Johnny McHale who temporarily flipped their world from white to black. But fortunately the Johnny McHales were few and far between. Mostly, they could live knowing that if a case ended well . . . a word that was only ever used if they caught the UNSUB . . . then at the end of the day what they had done was remove a true cancer from society.

There was a gratification to that knowledge that Hotch knew would never be found in any other work.

For a second he stared down at Emily's fingers intertwined with his, and he was about to let go of her hand, about to change the topic to something much lighter in the hopes of making her laugh, when he heard her clear her throat.

"When I was ten," Emily started slowly, "I went on a trip to Poland with my parents. The official visit was supposed to include a visit to the camps, and that night in the embassy quarters I heard my parents fighting. My mother said that I was too young to go, that those atrocities weren't things that I was old enough to understand, that it was wrong to expose me to them," her voice faded, "to destroy my innocence."

She stopped for a moment and Hotch looked over to see that her eyes were watering. He bit his lip and just as he was about to ask her if she was all right when she began to speak again.

"My dad," she sniffed, "I remember so clearly, my dad told her that it was because I was so young that he wanted me to go. That my beliefs were still being formed, that I hadn't yet become the person that I was going to be. And that there were things that he wanted me to learn," her tears started to pool as her voice got thick, "things that he couldn't just tell me, things he had to show me. And he wanted me to see the camps because he wanted me to see that most people weren't good or bad . . . they were just apathetic."

A tear ran down Emily's face as she turned to look at Hotch.

"You see," she wiped her cheek, "he wanted me to understand that what happened there happened because it was allowed to, because the people that could have stopped it before it started just didn't care enough to get involved. He wanted me to see that evil was unleashed when apathy ruled the world," she cleared her throat, "and he wanted me to see these things through other people's eyes. He wanted me to have opinions about them and to voice them, loudly. He wanted me to care," she took a breath, "and he convinced my mother that he was right. So the next day I went to Auschwitz."

She stopped talking, and when she stayed quiet, Hotch stared at her profile for a moment longer. Then he squeezed her fingers as he asked softly.

"What happened?"

He was starting to see a clear line of sight from this story that she was telling him, to the fact that he was sitting here with her today.

Again one question gives him so many other answers.

Slowly Emily lifted her head to look at Hotch.

"I cried."

And then she looked away again, afraid that if she told him the rest that more than one tear was going to start running down her face. The reality was that she'd had a week of nightmares after that trip. Though she had agreed to the visit, her mother had been so upset with her father, blaming him for Emily's nightly knocks on their door with tears running down her face. And yes, that had been a terrible time . . . she couldn't get those images out of her head and her parents were fighting all the time . . . but to this day Emily still felt that decision by her father to take his young daughter to a place that she had no business going, was one of the best things he'd ever done for her.

That trip had planted the seeds that brought her to where she was today. Helping to save the world by hunting down one monster at a time.

As she again began to remember that day that changed everything, Emily felt the tears start to pool once more. Trying to hide them from Hotch, she turned her head away from him as she dropped his hand and swung her feet off the chair.

"Um," she cleared her watery throat, "I'm going to go get us a couple more drinks. I'll be right back."

And then she hopped up, sliding on her flip flops and hurrying off before Hotch could stop her. Still though, she could hear him calling her name as she yanked the gate shut behind her.

Her hand came up to wipe her face as she started around the back of the house to avoid the party goers on the patio.

'_All she needed was a few minutes by herself and then she'd be fine.'_

/*/*/*/*/*

Hotch found Emily in the upstairs library. It was the first place he looked for her, it was the room where they drank a bottle of wine on Christmas Eve. The room where they'd shared their dead fern mistletoe kiss.

It was a room with good memories.

When he first stepped through the doorway, he paused seeing her slim figure bent over by Dave's atlas.

"Prentiss," he asked softly as he came up behind her, "are you all right?"

"Um," she sniffed once before brightening her voice, "yeah of course," she waved her hand over her shoulder, "you go back outside, I'll be along in a minute."

Damn it . . . she wiped her hand across her face . . . she hated looking weak in front of other people.

A second later she felt Hotch's warm hand on her bare shoulder. She bit her lip.

Apparently he wasn't taking _'I'll be along in a minute,' _as an acceptable answer to his question.

"Prentiss . . ." Hotch whispered again as he turned her around, their eyes catching just as another tear started to slide down her face.

He caught it, brushing it away with the tips of his fingers. They looked at each other for a moment, her eyes watering, his filled with compassion. Then she blinked.

"I'm sorry for crying," she sniffled as another traitorous tear spilled over, "I know you probably think it's dumb to still get so upset over something that happened thirty years ago."

It was just one of those memories that always came back to her with crystal clarity. And the feelings that washed over her again were always the same . . . grief and sadness.

And they always made her cry.

"Hey," Hotch whispered as he took her hand and took a step closer, "I don't think that at all," he tugged slightly, "now come here."

This would be one of the moments where he was grateful for Emily's tactile nature. It had been slowly brushing off on him, making it easier to make physical connections with her. And right now was definitely a moment where she needed that.

Though Emily tried for a millisecond to resist Hotch's offer of comfort . . . that millisecond was all she tried, then she just gave up and allowed Hotch to tug her to his chest.

She allowed Hotch to be Hotch.

And a second later she sighed as her cheek settled against the pocket of his golf shirt.

Hotch rubbed his hand down Emily's back as he murmured against her hair.

"You were only a little girl Prentiss, and that horrible place, no matter long it's been, of course that's a memory that's going to leave a mark. And I would never," he squeezed her for emphasis, "_never_, think that you were foolish for crying about anything, and certainly not that." He held her for a second longer before he sighed.

"I know that sometimes things hit you harder than you expect they will, but when that happens you can always come to me, okay? It's not a weakness, I just want to help."

Her empathy was clearly on occasion a terrible curse. He'd seen it on the job. And he couldn't even imagine what a trip to an actual Nazi concentration camp would have done to someone like her . . . his stomach ached as she sniffled against his shirt . . . she was such a sensitive soul.

He gently patted her back . . . that must have been hell.

Emily sniffled against Hotch's chest.

"Okay, thanks," she said huskily before reaching up to wipe her hand across her face again.

"I promise though I just need a minute."

If he hadn't come up and been all nice to her she might have had herself back together by now. But he comes up and is being sweet and uncharacteristically cuddly and it's difficult to be a hardass.

Hearing that Emily's voice was starting to steady, Hotch whispered back, "okay," and then he paused for a beat before adding softly, "but seeing as you already got makeup on my shirt you can feel free to take two minutes."

He was trying to cheer her up by lightening the mood.

Emily snorted as her hand came up to fist in the navy cotton.

"Okay," her watery voice came back a little brighter than it was before, "I guess I'll take the two minutes then."

As Hotch rubbed his hand down her back, Emily closed her eyes and sighed.

'_Being friends with Hotch definitely had some pretty good perks.'_

/*/*/*/*/*

Rossi was hurrying down the upstairs hallway to get a fresh shirt from his room when out of the corner of his eye he saw the couple in the library. He stopped short.

What the hell was this?

His gaze caught with Hotch's over Emily's head and then Rossi saw him raise his fingers slightly to shoo him away. Dave looked at him for a second before he nodded. And then he quietly tip toed the rest of the way down to his bedroom, his brow now wrinkling with concern.

What was that about? It obviously didn't seem to be a lover's clinch. For one thing, though Rossi knew that the two of them were getting closer, he didn't believe Hotch and Emily's relationship had progressed further than the friendship stage. Besides that, even if things had progressed further, Hotch certainly would have broken off the contact when he saw Dave.

So obviously Emily was upset about something.

As he yanked a fresh Hawaiian shirt out of the closet, his jaw twitched back and forth as he tried to think of what could have happened to upset her. It was hard for him to say though because he'd been over by the grill and the two of them had disappeared from the patio a good hour ago.

Well . . . he stepped back into the hall . . . whatever it was . . . he quietly hurried by the couple still standing together in the library . . . Hotch seemed to have it under control.

/*/*/*/*/*

Emily stood in the upstairs bathroom splashing cold water on her face, hoping to make her puffy eyes depuff before she went back outside and saw anyone.

Profilers tended to notice evidence of crying.

Unfortunately she was only semi-successful with the cold water application. The swelling did go down a little bit . . . and she did get the mascara streaks off her face . . . but she knew that mostly it was just a physiological reaction that was going to need ten, fifteen minutes to go down on its own.

Her nose wrinkled as she stared at her reflection . . . so that would clear itself up soon enough. But her bigger aesthetic concern was the red flush from where she'd been scrubbing at her skin. Though she knew that part of the tint was probably sunburn, she'd also cried or washed off all of her makeup. And at her age . . . fast approaching the modern standards for spinsterhood, she thought with an eye roll . . . base coat and mascara were absolute necessities so she didn't frighten small children.

She picked up a towel and began to gently pat her face dry . . . so basically right now she kind of looked like complete crap.

After she pulled the towel away, Emily's gaze traveled over her face again before focusing in on just her right cheek. She winced reflexively at what she saw in her reflection.

Great, the evidence of her lovely compound beating was once again visible. Every morning that was the first thing that she painstakingly covered up. Even though it was now just a faint yellowy bruising . . . which was nothing compared to what it was in the first days after she returned home . . . it was still not very pleasant to see. Especially when juxtaposed against the ruddiness around it.

Uck . . . she blew out a raspberry . . . she really was a mess. She definitely needed her bag.

Emily turned around to neatly hang the guest towel back on the rack and then she turned back to open the bathroom door. She blinked in surprise when she saw Hotch standing in front of her with his hand poised to knock.

"Oh," he dropped his fist, "hi," he lifted up his other arm, "I thought you might need this."

Her bag.

Emily gave Hotch a soft smile as she put her hand out.

"Thanks, I was just going to go get it."

A faint smile touched Hotch's lips . . . but he said nothing. After that earlier remark about her hair, he didn't want to inadvertently hurt her feelings again by commenting on her appearance.

Not that he in any way felt that there was anything _wrong_ with her appearance. Even back when he was married Hotch had always thought Emily was quite beautiful. And she still was. But right now, between the tears, the rubbing of her fist and the smears on his shirt, most of her makeup had worn away and she looked a little flush from the sun.

To his mind that didn't of course in any way detract from her underlying beauty, but he figured that she'd be bothered going back outside without makeup. So after he'd left her in the bathroom he had decided to make himself useful and go retrieve her bag from where she'd dropped it in the kitchen.

Apparently that was a good thought. But just as Emily was shutting the door again, Hotch's eyes caught sight of something and he put his hand out to stop the door. His gaze was fixed on her cheek.

The evidence of her beating.

The evidence of his failure.

Emily had been skillful with her makeup. Though he was fully aware of just how bad her injuries had been, it was the first time in weeks that he'd seen any physical evidence of them. And seeing that sickening yellow hue now, for just a moment Hotch was transported back to that God damn tent again. The dry heat was surrounding him as he was once more overcome with feelings of terror and guilt, each competing for dominance in that moment.

Because again he was listening to her brutal beating . . . and again he was powerless to stop it.

The flashback was so horrendously vivid . . . and it took Hotch completely by surprise.

First he was fine, and then he wasn't. And in an effort to shake off this immersion into one of the worst days of the past year of his life, Hotch took a shallow breath as his gaze fell away from her face and dropped down to the floor.

As he stared at Emily's yellow flip flops and the light pink polish on her toes, he reminded himself that she was here and she was fine.

He took another breath, slightly deeper . . . she was just fine.

When he had his breathing under control, he brought his eyes back up again to see Emily watching him closely, her features etched with concern. For a moment they stared at one another, and then her arm rose up and she touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

"I'm okay," she whispered as her hand moved down to cup his jaw, "I'm just fine."

He nodded slowly.

"I know," he gave her a sad smile, "but I still remember that for a little while," he swallowed, "you weren't."

Emily's eyes began to sting once more . . . the pain in his voice, the guilt that he clearly still carried from that day . . . these weren't things that she'd realized he was still burdened with.

And she wanted him to forget that day, she wanted to help him move on from that moment. So she put her bag on the floor before leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck.

This was the second big hug in less than an hour . . . a record for them. But this was an important hug.

A very important hug.

Sometimes she'd get these little glimpses of something more from him. Something beyond even the relaxed, open, funny man who had become her new favorite friend.

His armor would fall away for the briefest of moments and he was just . . . exposed. For those few seconds she could see everything. And this hug was to nurture that part of him. The part that she worried was being damaged by this terrible darkness he immersed himself in every day.

So regardless of whether or not he wanted this physical contact with her right now, Emily knew that he needed it. But then to her surprise . . . he hugged her back.

And not just a simple, perfunctory, '_only being polite hugging Emily back so she doesn't call me out on my crap'_ hug either. He was holding on to her just as tightly as she was holding onto him. Then . . . just before she thought that he was going to let her go . . . he leaned back, lifting her off the ground and clutching her to his chest.

Emily smiled against his neck.

"You know," she whispered in his ear, "for somebody who doesn't hug, you're pretty good at it."

For all of the effort that he put into maintaining a physical and metaphorical distance from the rest of the world, once she got past those barriers . . . and she'd been trying to beat them down for the better part of the last year . . . Emily had always found Hotch to be a tactile, affectionate man. It saddened her to realize that with his wife gone, he really had nobody to share that part of himself with except for his son.

A little boy that he only saw a few for a hours a week.

Though as she felt Hotch's arms tighten around her, Emily suddenly realized that perhaps he was starting to share that part of himself with her too. Her eyes fell shut for a moment as she breathed him in . . . good.

She impulsively kissed his cheek . . . that was really good.

Hotch's lips twitched slightly as he felt Emily's kiss . . . since the beginning the woman had been constantly redrawing their personal boundaries. But once he'd adjusted to it . . . and had become more open to the reality that he needed someone like her in his life . . . he had come to realize just how much he enjoyed that part of her personality. The part that simply did what she wanted to do regardless of any vibe he gave off or words that came out of his mouth.

From her first days with the Unit, she had always given him what he needed . . . even when he didn't know that's what he wanted. So in long overdue gratitude for this gift without price or measure, Hotch gave Emily one more squeeze before he lowered her back to the hardwood floor.

When he looked down at her barely an inch away, he made sure that his expression was completely sober as he said seriously.

"You should know by now Prentiss," he gave her a knowing look, "I'm good at _everything_."

It was still easier to joke than admit that he needed that physical contact with her. Because though he pretended to continue to be annoyed at the invasion of his space, in actuality Emily's impulsive hugging . . . and occasional kissing . . . was something that he'd be very sad to lose.

When Emily was with him he felt less alone.

Emily raised her eyebrow at Hotch in amusement . . . he was so cute when he feigned ignorance. But she appreciated the fact that he was trying to lighten things up, not only to prevent discussion of his own feelings, but for her sake as well. After all, her little tear fest was the reason that they were in here at all. So she decided to return the favor he'd just paid her by upping the innuendo just a tad.

It was her way.

"Good at everything, huh?" She stated rhetorically with a saucy eyebrow.

"That's what I said," he countered definitively with the same brow rising.

"Well _sir_," she poked her finger into his chest, "you had your chance to prove _that_ one to me when we were in the bathroom six months ago."

Seeing Hotch's lips start to twitch, Emily finished with a smirk.

"And now you've lost your window."

To ensure that she got the last (completely inappropriate) word, Emily slammed the door shut in his face.

Mouth quivering, Hotch stared at that solid brown oak for almost a minute before he lost the battle and a small grin slid across his face.

_Yep, Emily was exactly what he needed._

_

* * *

A/N 2: I love Dave's house. Like Emily's condo and Hotch's apartment, it's now a fully three dimensional space in my mind. And if you're trying to picture his outdoor space, if you've ever seen those makeover shows where people have these phenomenal spaces, that's Dave's house. _

_As I have had this written from beginning to end two months ago, originally I'd planned this to be put up as just one long one shot. But my muse has been twitchy these past few months so I'm just going with the 10,000 words it will clean up at a time._

_Though Emily is only ten in her memory, I have a few traumas at that same age (and a bit younger) and I have complete recall on a few instances so it is more than plausible that she would as well. As I was writing this I realized that I don't think that in the Girl'verse (nor has canon) ever really touched on WHY Emily does this work. I've given her some trauma, canon's given her some trauma, but no explanations as to why she'd decide that she wanted to catch serial predators for a living. And she fought to get into THAT unit so there had to have been a specific reason she wanted to be there. And given that I've given her a father who was a CIA agent all through the Cold War, I thought he and his experiences would have had a unique influence on how Emily's view of the world was formed. And given that canon does station her mother in what was formerly Eastern Europe, a visit to the concentration camps seems quite likely for the Ambassador. And if Emily was there for that, I could see that having a profound effect on her life's choices. Just my take :)_

_Another thing I didn't flesh out as much as I could have over in Girl was Emily's lingering bruises and Hotch's reaction to see them. On the show they were just suddenly gone, but makeup only covers so much and eventually he was going to see them again. And given how he reacted in canon to the beating, I didn't think he'd deal well with an 'in your face' reminder of what had happened. _

_Based on my flipping through Girl, this point in time was just when they were becoming much more demonstrative with one another but most of those chapters in that window were quite short so I took advantage of that development here with them alone for so many hours. _

_One last chapter here._

_Another posting up later tomorrow on a different story._


	3. Dogs and Cats and Skanks, Oh My!

**Author's Note****: ** The conclusion of the cookout. Picks up a few minutes from the end of the last chapter and you'll see there are a few threads pulled forward from the main Girl story.

**

* * *

Prompt Set #16 (July)**

Show: Being Erica

Title Challenge: Such a Perfect Day

* * *

**Dogs and Cats and Skanks, Oh My!**

Emily stepped through the French doors and out onto the patio. Then she paused for a moment, squinting slightly in the bright summer sun as she scanned the small crowd by the house, looking to see if Hotch had decided to settle out there again.

It took her a second to look everyone over. Though it was nowhere near the turnout there had been at the Christmas party, counting the team there were probably two dozen people at Dave's house today.

Hmmm . . . Emily's brow wrinkled . . . well, she could see Dave and a large portion of the neighbor men working the grill . . . and Derek working those same neighbors' neglected wives . . . but there was no sign of Hotch anywhere in the their midst.

That was just as well Emily thought as she yelled out a passing "hey guys" to Garcia and Reid as she cut around the side of the house. She really wasn't in the mood to be sociable again quite yet. After her unexpected tears she'd really just rather have a bit more alone time with Hotch so she could regroup before she started mixing. Not that she was depressed or anything, just maybe a bit . . . pensive.

Yeah, that was the word, pensive.

And Hotch . . . Emily's expression softened slightly as she stepped onto the lawn . . . he always just seemed to sense what it was she needed. Be it one of his dry little jokes, an ear to bend, or just somebody to keep her company, she was discovering that she never had to ask with him, he always just knew.

It was really nice.

And as much time as they spent together now, she knew that they'd still barely scratched the surface of all the things that they could learn about each other. Each day that they sat together in the quad or in the diner or the coffee shop, she was just amazed by all of the little bits of himself that he now shared with her.

He would confide in her and ask her advice on how to handle his problems. Of course with anyone else those would just be considered normal friend things, but because it was Hotch . . . someone she'd once considered The Most Private Man in America . . . they were really special things.

It was like she'd won a lottery and her prize had been this key that unlocked the real Aaron Hotchner. The one that was kept hidden away from the rest of the world . . . she felt so honored.

And as she started across the lawn she felt a little burst of happiness as she spotted him back sitting down by the pool again. And then a second later a small grin spread across Emily's face as she noticed the person sitting next to him and she realized what was happening.

One of Dave's leggy fake blonde neighbors was trying to pick him up.

Even from a distance it was clear that Hotch really had no interest whatsoever in her advances.

He was leaning back and she was leaning forward.

Emily snorted slightly . . . Hotch was the only single man she knew would be trying to shoo away a half naked woman. And Hotch was also the only man she knew that could pull off that unique combination of polite annoyance as he did it.

Not that Emily was close enough yet to read all the nuances of his facial expressions, but she knew him better and better every day that passed, and she knew from experience that when it came to dealing with the opposite sex, Aaron Francis Hotchner was always the epitome of a southern gentleman.

Well, except of course when it came to work.

If circumstances dictated he could be a little . . . or a lot . . . blunt on the job. But even then he always seemed to regret using a harsh tone because it had been Emily's experience that when he was short with someone, he usually tried to smooth things over later.

It was just wasn't in him to be a jerk.

Especially in the current situation where he knew that the woman who was hitting on him was a friend of Dave's. But still, as Emily walked closer, his annoyance became quite clear to her.

Especially given that the woman was sitting in the seat that Emily herself had been sitting in before she'd had her childhood flashback. And he definitely would have been saving that for her.

Well . . . Emily slapped on a polite smile as she slung her bag back over her shoulder and unhooked the pool gate . . . she was back now so seats no longer needed to be saved.

/*/*/*/*/

As Emily stepped onto the deck Hotch's jaw unclenched . . . thank God! Though he was a little out of practice with the dating scene, he wasn't an idiot. So he was quite aware that this clearly _married,_ half dressed woman . . . though a bikini top and a piece of what appeared to be mosquito netting didn't really qualify as clothes to Hotch . . . was flirting quite aggressively with him.

It was very unsettling.

Did vows mean _nothing_ to anyone anymore? He certainly wasn't naïve about the statistics of infidelity, but he really was astounded by how many of these women today seemed to be looking for ways to "occupy" their time outside of their husbands' presence.

And unlike Derek, Hotch was not interested in keeping anyone "occupied" at all today.

He just wanted to have a nice quiet afternoon with Emily. That was really the only reason that he'd agreed to attend this party. And now that she was back again, hopefully her presence would drive the other woman away.

And if it didn't, well . . . Hotch straightened up as his savior approached . . . then he'd feign some excuse to get the two of them out of there.

He'd had enough of this playing defense crap.

Emily smiled sweetly as she stopped next to Hotch's chair.

"Excuse me," she curled her fingers possessively around his shoulder, "but could I please steal him back?"

Again, friend of Dave's so Emily was also trying to be nice. It's not like she'd done "keepsies" with her chair.

Or her boss for that matter.

Regardless of the fact that he had driven her here today, Hotch was of course certainly free to exchange pleasantries with any woman that he wished. But it was quite clear from his body language that he didn't wish to exchange pleasantries or . . . she snorted to herself . . . anything else, with the woman whose hand was inching along his bicep.

He looked like he was about ready to fling her into the pool.

"Sure thing hon," the other woman drawled as she pulled her hand back. Then she stood up and adjusted the tie on her sarong before adding with a smirk.

"Just keeping him warm for ya'."

Emily chuckled as she dropped her bag onto the deck and herself down into the now vacant deck chair.

"Thanks," she shot the reddening Hotch an amused look, "but I think he's about warm enough."

If he got any warmer then she'd need to pack his head in ice before he literally popped his top.

It didn't help when Emily saw the other woman shoot Hotch one more longing glance before she left the pool area. The gate swung shut with a clang and Emily looked back at the now lobster red Hotch scowling her.

"Keeping him WARM for you?" he sputtered indignantly over the rim of his sunglasses, "what the hell was that supposed to mean Prentiss?"

Seeing the look on his face, Emily put her hands up defensively as she started to laugh again, "hey, don't yell at me! I didn't say it! That was the Desperate Housewife of Fairfax County who had just sunk her claws into your bicep." With an amused huff Emily settled back and crossed her legs, "if anything you should be thanking me for getting you _de_clawed before you caught something that would have required a shot of penicillin to get rid of."

Really, like Emily . . . from AFAR(!) . . . could have prevented Rossi's clearly undersexed, obviously over botoxed, skanky, bleach blonde neighbor from finding Hotch HOT!

Yeah, hi, the man _was_ indeed hot! That was an empirical statement of fact! Especially today when he was wearing the casual clothes and the short sleeves showing off his tanned muscles. Not so bulky as Morgan's muscles, but still the term there was "UBER hot!"

Hell, Emily wasn't even trying to pick up the man and that's what SHE thought of him! So short of actually pulling her weapon and blowing somebody away, she really couldn't be held accountable for other hetero women's reactions to him.

Hotch stared at Emily for two beats before he grunted slightly and pushed his sunglasses back up his nose.

Damn it. She'd actually made a valid point there about the claws. The last thing the blonde had purred to him before Emily walked up was, "oh I see you don't have a ring." This was of course as Hotch could clearly see _her_ diamond encrusted band and matching (minimum three carat) engagement ring sparkling in the summer sun.

If Emily hadn't arrived when she had, Hotch was pretty sure those red manicured claws would have been physically jabbed into his upper thigh.

Really . . . he shuddered slightly . . . it would have been the thigh if he was lucky!

Noticing Hotch's prolonged silence . . . and the sudden distasteful wrinkling of his nose . . . Emily smirked. Apparently he'd seen the wisdom in her assessment of the situation.

Good.

But even so, she wasn't going to tease him about it. Being a total sweetie and giving her two fully engulfing hugs had earned him a free pass from any and all verbal mockery. Of course that was just a temporary pass, but it should still cover him for about an hour.

So she bit back the remark on the tip of her tongue as she let out a soft sigh and turned her attention back to simply relaxing in the summer sun.

It was a lovely day.

Well, okay . . . she corrected in her head . . . it was a _humid_ day, but they'd had a line of thunderstorms last night so it wasn't quite as muggy as it had been earlier in the week. And the fact that she wasn't breaking into a dripping sweat just sitting quietly in the sun was considered very nice weather for summer in Northern Virginia.

Plus . . . she snuck a quick look over to Hotch now reading his blackberry . . . she had really good company so that upped the lovely part of the day's assessment. She was so happy that she'd gotten him to agree to come with her to this party.

Actually she was just so happy that Dave had agreed to HAVE this party.

Without that she wouldn't have had this extra day with Hotch. And though she'd love to take this free time with him to talk about something new . . . maybe that month she'd heard he'd spent at Scotland Yard back in the late nineties . . . unfortunately her unexpected bout of crying had sucked a bit of energy out of her. And she'd already been a little tired from staying up late cooking, so she decided to rest her eyes for a minute before distracting Hotch from reading his entire In-box.

It was still early . . . she yawned into her arm . . . there was still plenty of time to talk.

/*/*/*/*/*/

"Prentiss," Hotch said softly as he reached over to pat Emily's arm, "Prentiss, wake up. You're going to get burned."

A second later Emily's lashes fluttered open and he saw her staring up at him in confusion. She'd been out for probably fifteen minutes so it wasn't surprising to Hotch that she was slightly bleary eyed.

He gave her a little smile.

"I think you should get out of the sun for a bit. You look a little pink." His gaze drifted across the expansive yard, "why don't you go sit under the canopy with JJ?"

He should have woken her up earlier but he'd started reading over his email and hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until he took note of how quiet it was.

Since they'd been spending personal time together Hotch had noticed that it wasn't like Emily to sit in _complete_ silence for more than five minutes unless she had a fork in her mouth. And even then he'd had enough crumbs inadvertently spit on him over the last month to know that a meal wasn't a surefire guarantee of silence.

As Hotch saw Emily nod as she yawned into her arm, he realized that it wasn't just his companion that should relocate. It was probably time for him to go up and talk to Dave and Morgan for a bit.

They'd talked to everyone when they'd first arrived but that was now over an hour since they'd left them.

It was time to make another social pass.

Hotch started to tuck his blackberry back into his pants pocket when he noticed Emily rubbing her eyes. That's when he saw the dark circles that were still apparent even after the second application of base. And when he folded her dead to the world nap in with the pile of food that she had prepared in record time for today, he suddenly realized just how late she must have stayed up cooking.

He felt a stab of guilt as he realized that he should have done more to help her last night. But he'd still been in a bit of a mood after the shopping trip and had just wanted to go home.

In retrospect though, he could see that he'd probably been deliberately obtuse about her menu plans for today. They had bought so much food that part of him must have known that she was planning on cooking it beforehand . . . and the rest of him had pretended that she wasn't.

And that was a pretty shitty thing to do.

So as she slowly sat up and started to swing her feet to the deck, he jumped up out of his own chair. When she looked up at him in surprise, he put his hand out to help her up.

"You go sit with JJ and I'll get you a snack."

The woman was always hungry, so as peace offerings went . . . even if she didn't know that's what she was getting . . . food was a no brainer.

Though also a rather ironic one given that she made the majority of the food.

Emily's eyes began to twinkle as she stared up at Hotch for a second. "A snack huh? Will you get me a girly drink too?"

She wasn't sure what had triggered this unsolicited offer to wait on her, but she was definitely going to take advantage. Though as she'd said the word "girly" she saw him take a deep breath and her lips twitched as he responded on a dramatic sigh, "yes, if that's what you want then I will get you a," second dramatic sigh, "girly drink too."

Good God . . . he moaned to himself . . . please don't let her ask for a _'Sixty-Nine on the Couch'_ or some other ridiculous thing that she'd probably invent solely to make him look like an ass when he asked Dave to make it for her.

Seeing Hotch's obvious concern about the nature of her drink order, Emily's mouth quivered as she took his hand and allowed him to pull her up. Once she was standing in front of him, she squeezed his fingers as she smiled sweetly. "Okay, then can you please get me a strawberry daiquiri, a cheeseburger, some potato salad, a few chips and a little bit of the torte if there's any left."

Hotch thought nothing of her request for a whole second meal less than two hours after the first one, but his eyebrow did rise suspiciously at her drink order.

It couldn't be that easy.

"That's it?" He asked cautiously, "a strawberry daiquiri? You're not going torture me with something ridiculous like a Chinese Cat Fight or a Mexican Chihuahua," then he added flatly, "the latter of which I'm quite sure would require me to carry it back wearing a sombrero."

Emily burst out laughing as they turned to start walking out of the pool enclosure.

"If you can find a sombrero to slap on I would _love_ to see it! But no," she looped her arm through his, still chuckling as she squeezed his bicep, "it most definitely is not a requirement for you to cart around today's beverage selection."

A sombrero . . . she shook her head slightly in amusement as they walked along . . . the things that came out of his mouth sometimes. And Morgan STILL didn't believe her when she said that Hotch was a good time! A couple weeks ago Derek had asked her what she and Hotch talked about during lunch and she had said everything, that he was really amusing and that they had a lot of fun together.

Morgan had looked at her like she'd come into work wearing a plate of fruit on her head.

Well . . . she sighed as she bopped her head lightly on Hotch's arm . . . Derek's loss.

A few steps further up the hill, Hotch's response came back to her again and Emily's nose wrinkled in slight befuddlement as she looked back up at him.

"Was there any particular reason that both of your fictitious drinks had animals in them?"

Well, as far as she knew they were fictitious. They certainly sounded too ridiculous to be real. But of course a variety of mixed alcoholic beverages had some pretty F'd up names so, God knows.

"Uh," Hotch stammered slightly at the question, "no, no reason."

Actually he knew exactly why that was but it would sound too ridiculous to say aloud. When Emily was dozing Hotch had been staring at Derek crossing the yard as he chatted up two more of Dave's sarong wrapped neighbors and all Hotch could think as he saw Morgan dividing his attention between the two women was what Haley and Emily had called him the night of the Super Bowl party.

First a dog, and then an alley cat.

And apparently that thought had been stuck in his head when he'd been blurted out those drink names.

Emily looked at Hotch for a second longer before she shrugged, "just curious."

When they got to the slight incline in the lawn leading around to main outdoor entertaining area, Hotch stopped and looked down at her before he said ironically, "I'll drop off your order in a minute ma'am."

Emily's mouth quivered for a second before her eyebrow went up slightly in concern.

"When you come back you're going to stay and sit with us, right?"

At the almost imperceptible nose wrinkle . . . which Emily knew was Hotch's aversion to being trapped with surround sound girl talk . . . she looked across the yard to the tent.

"Will's in there," she reminded him, "you can talk to him if we start to drive you crazy."

Emily liked Will. And though he hadn't come out and said it, she also knew that Hotch was still getting used to the other man. Not just the idea of him, but also trying to decide if he was good enough for JJ. If he'd treat her well and be a good father for her baby.

Not that he had any say in this matter either way, but Hotch was very protective of the team . . . JJ of course also being an obvious favorite . . . so Emily thought that letting the two men sit together for a little bit would probably be good towards alleviating Hotch's concerns on this front.

One less thing for him to worry about.

Hotch's gaze followed Emily's across the lawn, scoping out the three couples and four unattached women sitting under the striped canopy. Aside from JJ and Will, Hotch also recognized two of the women as having been at Dave's Christmas party.

The woman on the end was the one that had been mauling him down by the pool . . . she was one of the two sarong wrapped women he had seen with Morgan ten minutes ago . . . which really wasn't much of an incentive for Hotch to want to go sit in there.

But then he looked down at Emily's hopeful face and he sighed, deciding that as long as he sat with her and JJ then that other woman should leave him alone.

"Okay," his eyes crinkled slightly as he nodded at her, "I'll sit for a bit."

Well, so much for his plans to go see Dave, but talking with the women would be fine too. Actually more than fine given that he was more than comfortable with the size of his penis so he didn't have to prove his virility by demonstrating his ability to cook with fire. Really the only reason he was going to spend a bit of time in the pit area was because he'd been slightly concerned that if he spent ALL of his time today with Emily that the others might think that strange.

Not that he thought they'd think their relationship was _inappropriate_, but more that it would look like he was avoiding the others for some reason.

Which he wasn't, he just felt more relaxed with Emily. But he figured that as long as JJ and Will were present when he was talking to Emily that technically he was being . . . he rolled his eyes internally . . . "sociable."

So feeling a little more comfortable about his choice to stay with the woman that he preferred to stay with, Hotch watched her crossing the lawn for a moment before turning and continuing back up to the BBQ pit.

Might as well start with the hamburger first.

Hotch could see the pit was where Dave and at least a half dozen of the male guests were stationed with their beers.

The beers were now being sloshed from the pit onto the patio as the men made wild gesticulations to whoever had current control of the built in grill. And though the group had eaten en masse at lunchtime, the grill . . . and the beer . . . had been running non-stop since Hotch and Emily had arrived.

In addition to God knows how many carcasses Dave had purchased, most of the neighbors appeared to have contributed a packet of some type of meat product to the occasion so everyone could get a turn playing grill master.

From where Hotch was standing it appeared that they presently had searing on there a half a side of cow and enough chicken parts to reconstruct the large yellow denizen currently residing on Sesame Street.

And to Hotch's amusement, as he approached the main party area he saw that both Spencer and Kevin had also opted not to partake in this antiquated male grilling ritual either. They were sitting with Garcia having a spirited debate about what . . . to Hotch's ear . . . appeared to be the merits of Marvel Comics superheroes versus the DC superheroes.

Hotch snorted slightly as he walked past Reid exclaiming about the unparalleled feats of Iron Man, and that's when he began to wonder if he and Kevin were also that comfortable with their manhood or just hadn't gotten the memo that they needed to charcoal animal flesh over an open flame to prove their masculinity.

Given the men in question . . . and the topic of conversation that was presently all consuming for them . . . Hotch was inclined to think it was the latter.

Well, ignorance was bliss.

Either way, Hotch took a breath as he headed over to the grill to send Dave off to make Emily's drink while Hotch himself collected her burger.

And perhaps a little something for himself.

/*/*/*/*/*

JJ smiled as she saw Emily walking up to the awning.

"Hey stranger," she called out as her friend approached, "where you been?" She saw Emily smile shyly as she responded, "oh, just talking to Hotch down by the pool," and JJ nodded.

"Ah."

Of course she'd known full well where Emily had been. She'd seen her talking to their boss for most of the afternoon. And that time with Emily was about the most animated JJ had ever seen Hotch for such a sustained period. Though she'd known that the two of them had been going to lunch, JJ had no idea how much of Hotch's shell had been broken down by simply participating in that normal social ritual.

Which was why . . . JJ scanned Dave's back yard to see where Hotch had disappeared to . . . she was disappointed to see that he hadn't come over with Emily now.

She'd that hoped his deshelling would extend to spending time with her and Will today too.

So as Emily dropped down in the seat to her left JJ asked the question.

"So where's mom now?"

"Oh," Emily's eyes automatically shifted to the place she'd last seen Hotch, "he'll be along in a second," she turned back to JJ with a grin, "he's getting me a burger and a daiquiri."

"Really," JJ laughed, "did he lose a bet?"

He was waiting on her . . . that was new. But at least he was coming over. Even after the months that had passed, JJ still felt badly about how she'd handled the pregnancy announcement. She knew that she'd hurt Hotch by keeping the secret from him as long as she had. So she was trying to make amends there by making an effort to have him feel more included in her life.

A somewhat difficult task given his general reserve.

Especially after New York there had been a few weeks where he'd clearly seemed uncomfortable when they were alone together. It was like he just hadn't known how to talk to her anymore.

It had really bothered her a lot.

But then after the compound, things had seemed normal again. Maybe it was a perspective issue for all of them. Still though, JJ felt badly about hurting him and she wanted to make it right.

Hopefully she could do that today.

Emily chuckled at JJ's comment about Hotch.

"No lost bets today," she smiled, "today he's just being nice. He said I looked a little flush and he thought it would be good for me to get out of the sun for a bit."

Will's brow wrinkled right before he drawled, "you do look a bit peaked Emily." As he leaned back in his chair, he added conversationally, "you know my Meemaw had a three legged basset hound that used to overheat every summer too."

"Will," JJ smacked his knee as she yelled out in horror, "don't compare Emily to a DOG!"

Good God! Here she was trying to get them to welcome him to the fold and he's telling Emily she looks like a HOUND dog!

"I wasn't comparing EMILY to a dog!" Will shot JJ an indignant look as he defended himself, "I was _comparing_ reactions to the heat!" He shook his head in disbelief, "Good God woman you don't think my Momma raised me better than to call a woman a DOG!"

Sometimes he'd swear this baby had knocked a screw loose in that pretty head of hers.

"Guys!" Emily put her hand up as she started laughing, "really, no need to fight! Jayje I didn't think Will was comparing me to a hound dog, though," she chuckled as she patted JJ's arm, "I do appreciate you defending my aesthetic appeal as rising above that of one of the homeliest specimens of the canine kingdom."

JJ looked at Emily for a second before she started to giggle, "well, you know that's what friends are for." Then she looked over at Will still huffing and she sent him an apologetic pout, "sorry for jumping the gun honey."

After shooting his woman an appraising eyebrow, Will leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips, "apology accepted," then he patted the slight swell of her belly as he directed the rest of his words to their growing child, "your Momma's gonna drive me to the Johnny Walker little man."

Seeing the affectionate eye roll JJ shot him . . . he was used them . . . Will laughed as he reached over to pick up his half empty beer bottle.

She kept telling him that simply calling their unborn baby "little man" did not in any way increase the odds that it would actually be a boy. Their child already was what it was regardless of what he called it. And he kept telling her that it until the bun came out of the oven he could call it what he wanted to call it.

The debate had been ongoing for the past four point five months.

Watching Will and JJ tease one other, Emily suddenly felt an unexpected wave of envy wash over her.

How did JJ make it all look so easy? She was almost ten years younger than Emily and she'd already found her perfect guy and was having his baby. And here Emily was sitting here with them feeling like the biggest third wheel on the planet.

And then when Will patted JJ's expanding belly, Emily's envy morphed to something else.

Panic.

Panic and serious discomfort. And she was about to fake a need to run to the bathroom when her phone began to ring.

Oh thank God!

She flashed what she hoped was a non scary smile to JJ and Will as she jammed her hand into her bag, "sorry guys," she stood up, "one second."

As she stumbled back out to the open grass . . . trying to push down her bizarre panic attack . . . Emily yanked the phone out, putting it to her ear without checking the caller ID.

"Prentiss," she said breathlessly as she kept walking away from the tent.

"Hey," Hotch said as he squirted ketchup onto Emily's burger, "can you please ask JJ if she'd like anything to eat?"

It hadn't occurred to Hotch until he saw Morgan walk by him with another hot dog for Garcia that he was going to look like a real ass if he showed up with a plate of food for Emily and nothing for the pregnant woman who would surely be sitting right beside her.

"Hotch!" Emily exclaimed in delight. Then she sighed in relief as she scurried away from the canopy with the happy couple beneath it, "I'm so glad you called!"

Pausing for a moment in his burger prep, Hotch's eyebrow went up as he asked in amused bewilderment, "okay ah, thanks I guess. But you do know that I just left you three and a half minutes ago, right? Though I am flattered that you enjoy my company so much, that's alarmingly codependent behavior Agent Prentiss. I might need to send you to some counseling sessions next week."

What was up with her?

Feeling the panic instantly fade away at Hotch's gentle teasing, Emily chuckled as she plopped down unceremoniously on the far end of Rossi's manicured lawn down by the back fence.

"Just hurry back please," she lowered her voice though nobody was within hearing distance of her now, "Will and JJ are being all cute and coupley and then they kissed and he patted her stomach and I had to flee their presence because I wanted to hurl myself off a cliff."

'_God, dramatic much Em?'_ She thought with disgust.

Hotch's lips twitched slightly as he switched the phone to his shoulder so he could pick up the overflowing plate of food and the bright red drink Rossi had just placed in front of him.

"I suppose," he started out of the pit area with a goodbye/thank you nod to Dave as he continued talking to Emily, "that you are aware that hurling yourself off a cliff would be a rather extreme reaction to simply witnessing a small demonstration of affection between two expectant parents?"

He did so enjoy her ridiculousness. And he could see her clear as day in her bright yellow dress sitting over by the fence.

She did look stressed so he picked up the pace of his steps.

"Yes," Emily rolled her eyes as she lay back on the grass, "I am aware that would be an extreme reaction. Unfortunately that doesn't change the fact that I just mentally cursed my pregnancy glowing best friend for finding personal happiness before I did."

Emily was quiet for a moment before she pouted into the phone, "I'm a terrible person Hotch."

"No you aren't."

Hearing his voice in stereo, Emily turned her head to see Hotch walking up behind her. He was still a good ten feet away but that was close enough so she closed her phone, giving him a little smile as he closed the distance.

"Hey," she called out softly. It was a little frightening how much better she felt just seeing him again. It was like an endorphin release or something.

Weird.

"Hey yourself," Hotch responded to Emily as he walked up, his eyes crinkling slightly as he moved to sit down on the grass by her head.

Once he'd lowered down to his knees, Hotch continued their conversation as though there had been no interruption.

"You're just adjusting to the idea that JJ's building a family now," he gave Emily a little smile as he put the plate of food by his knee so he could close the phone, "but I promise that things will get better."

He could only say this to her because he was speaking from experience. It had taken him a few weeks to adjust to JJ's news. To not only get over the hurt that she hadn't told him that she was expecting, but also to be genuinely happy that she was getting her life in order.

And the only reason it had taken him those few weeks . . . he wasn't usually so petty . . . was because her happy news hit just in the midst of his own personal crapstorm. But things were okay now. When he had seen JJ laughing with Will earlier today it didn't cause him the pain that it would have even a month ago.

He'd let it go.

Emily pushed herself up on her elbows as she looked at him with a worried frown, "you really promise that it'll get better?"

His assurance on this point would go a long way towards reducing her present feelings of self loathing.

"I do," Hotch nodded solemnly before handing her a potato chip, "in the meantime this will help fill the void."

They were the honey BBQ kind, her favorite. And his eyes crinkled as she started to laugh.

"Thanks," she popped the chip into her mouth and started to chew. "Oh yeah," she smirked at him, "I feel better already."

She did actually. Though she knew that was more his presence than the slice of deep fried potato.

Hotch tipped head his head, "thought so. Now," he handed her the thicker of the two cheeseburgers on the plate, "keep shoveling the food in until you can slap on a happy face and we can go back over there and make polite conversation for ten minutes."

Out of the corner of his eye he'd seen JJ watching him bypass the section of yard where the tent was to walk over to Emily alone in the grass. And if he'd had a free hand he would have at least waved at the blonde. But as he'd been balancing the phone, the frozen drink and the overflowing plate of food, that wasn't exactly a doable exercise.

Still though, he knew that his media liaison wasn't a moron, she had to have deduced that he was the one that had called Emily. And given Emily's immediate departure to an isolated section of the yard, it now appeared that HE was the one that told her to move out of the canopy so that HE wouldn't have to go sit with the other couple.

So basically HE looked like a douchebag. And as soon as Emily could manage to put on a smile that wouldn't scare small children, they were going back over there again.

Emily huffed as she sat up, curling her leg under her.

"Yes sir."

Then she noticed that he was about to pick up the second burger on the plate and her brow wrinkled in concern.

"Are you eating my food?"

Hotch stopped with the burger halfway to his mouth to shoot her an incredulous look.

"Uh, no, this would be MY cheeseburger. And I just handed you your _second_ bacon, mushroom cheeseburger of the day so I think that should curb the appetite of whatever your tape worm is craving this afternoon. If you thought I was going to watch you shovel down THREE of those artery clogging burgers in addition to the two links of bratwurst and half a pound of steak you ate, then you're nuts."

"Hey," Emily poked a greasy finger in his face as she mumbled around her bite of cheeseburger, "you split both the steak and the bratwurst with me so that doesn't count," her eyebrow went up as she swallowed before huffing at him, "in fact if anyone's been eating too much artery clogging crap today it's you. After all," she smiled sweetly at him, "you are seven years older."

Taking a shot at his age was always a sure fire way to get him riled up.

A new favorite past time.

And sure enough she saw his brow darken right before he grumbled.

"Six and a half."

When he went back to his burger with a scowl Emily turned her head to hide her grin. But then she heard.

"You shouldn't be so cocky there Prentiss, someday you'll be this old too."

Emily looked over to see both his lip and his eyebrow were quirked up defiantly. But she just gave him a soft smile as she whispered back.

"But you'll always be older."

"Wiser too," he responded flatly. And her eyes twinkled as she popped another chip into her mouth.

"Time will tell sir," she winked at him, "time will tell."

/*/*/*/*/*/

After Emily . . . with Hotch's assistance . . . had finished off her second full lunch of the day, she dusted off her hands, let him help her up off the ground, and followed him back over to the canopy with their trash. After they'd dumped their garbage, Emily slapped on a big smile that she kept firmly on her face the whole time she was talking to JJ and Will.

It really did help that Hotch was there with her. Though they weren't in any way, shape or form a couple, at least with him she wasn't a third wheel. And he was actually making a genuine effort to be sociable, smiling (Hotch's subdued version of course) and asking Will how work was going and JJ how she was feeling.

Emily was more grateful than she could say that he was putting himself out there like that for her. Because she knew that of the two of them, ordinarily she would have been the one taking the conversational lead. It was still hard though, seeing JJ with Will, so it was taking all of Emily's considerable diplomatic training to stay socially engaged for as long as they were.

Hotch had been right . . . she was adjusting to her friend moving on to a new phase of her life. And she was envious about that.

She just hadn't realized it before.

After twenty minutes . . . just about the point where Emily's smile was going to begin slipping . . . Reid and Garcia wandered down to get out of the sun. And Hotch, under the pretext of being polite . . . though Emily knew it was really just to give her a break from making chit chat . . . immediately stood up, ushering her down so that the others could take the seats closest to the expectant couple.

Emily sat down on the far end of the group, looking up at Hotch with a little smile as he settled into the seat next to her.

"Thanks," she whispered. And he crossed his legs as he shook his head at her, "I have no idea what you're talking about." Then he winked and she smiled.

'_This was definitely her best day in a long time.'_

_

* * *

A/N 2: I think I'm going to leave it here for now and change this baby to Complete. I have a vague idea involving fireworks later in the night, but it's still just a vaguery and I don't want to leave it open just for that. But if it ever comes to me more clearly then I'll open it up again. _

_This pulled forward a few other threads that are addressed in the Girl, an earlier Spring chapter "Pretzels & Prentiss" addressing Hotch's hurt feelings about JJ keeping the pregnancy from him. And then later in the fall, "Hookers, Whales & Princess Leah" addressing Emily's lingering envy about JJ starting a family before she did. At that point Emily was more settled into couplehood with Hotch (though they had not yet gotten together) so she wasn't so upset because she wasn't feeling so alone. Here though, I could see her having that slight panic attack as she suddenly realizes just how much things have changed. I've said it before, but I do like these offshoot stories because I can expand on smaller themes that were only brushed over in the main story. I think overall it makes the universe a bit richer and three dimensional. Hopefully anyway :)_

_And I don't actually think that all women are looking to cheat on their husbands :) I just see Dave's neighborhood as being one filled with those cookie cutter McMansions. You know in an affluent little suburb with a lot of bored, rich trophy wives looking for a little attention. Sadly they do still exist and disturbingly, they all seem to be getting their own reality shows._

_Going for two more updates this weekend, but the hoped for Fracture won't be up yet. It's not written down yet :) But I do have it clear in my head so sometime before next weekend. I've got these three other chapters that just need a read through, then that's my focus.  
_


	4. Pop Goes The Fourth

**Author's Note**: Finally, something fun!

I know I'd said this story was closed, but I'm always getting other ideas. And I just thought this bit here a) could only fit in the Girl'verse, and b) really was perfect as an addendum for the 4th of July BBQ already written.

So this picks up with them a few hours after we closed the last scene. And if you haven't read _Making Spirits Bright_ (the Christmas party at Dave's) I would suggest you do so before reading this story (well, this chapter at least) as there are a couple of little side jokes referencing back to events there that would make more sense in context.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 – For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain.**_

_**Tumblr: ffsienna27 – More randomness.**_

* * *

**Pop Goes The Fourth**

Emily stifled a yawn as she tipped her wrist to look down at her watch.

Barely 6:30 pm.

Still really early, but she had been at Dave's since before noon. Not to mention she'd been up until almost two am cooking . . . then got up less than five hours later to FINISH cooking . . . so at this point she was starting to lose a bit of her earlier excitement for the party.

A party which had . . . her gaze shifted around the raucous group in Dave's backyard . . . grown considerably in size since it had started. As the day had worn on and other neighbors had returned from their respective . . . official . . . holiday cookouts/BBQs, they had wandered over to Dave's for a second go around. It was nothing like the turnout at the Christmas party, but still there were a good thirty or forty people wandering about the patio, pool and backyard.

It was kind of fun.

And really, if not for people showing up with their leftovers from the earlier outings, the food would have probably run out hours ago. But as it was things were still going strong at both the barbecue pit and the bar. And even if most people didn't know the party was her idea . . . okay, basically just Dave and Hotch knew the party was her idea . . . she was still feeling pretty proud about how well the whole thing had turned out.

Not that that meant she felt the need to stay there all night.

Not only was her general energy level starting to lag, but she was really hoping to get home in time to watch the fireworks. Her apartment had the best view around for that activity. And given the traffic around the city on a day like this, Emily knew that she should probably check in with Hotch pretty soon to find out their exit strategy.

She'd like to leave within the hour.

And though for most of the day Hotch had been pretty much glued to her side . . . which had actually been quite fun . . . the last time that he'd gotten up to get her a drink, Garcia had dropped into the seat he'd been occupying. So now Hotch was three chairs down from her talking to Derek about something that she couldn't quite make out.

Though given that the phrase, "semi-automatic weapons" seemed to be getting bandied about, it was probably work related. Regardless though . . . Emily leaned forward slightly to project her voice around Garcia and Kevin's currently empty chair next to her . . . this was just a quick interruption.

"Hey Hotch, what . . ."

And then the rest of the sentence got caught in her throat.

Oh. Crap.

Kevin had just tripped.

He tripped right in front of them . . . he was walking back to his seat on the other side of Garcia . . . and the entire plate of food he was carrying went flying through the air. It had just landed in Hotch's lap.

But not before bouncing off his chest.

Emily's hand came up to cover her mouth. It was about the worst . . . non serial killer related . . . thing that she'd ever seen.

And for a moment there was just a stunned silence . . . pretty impressive given that were almost a dozen people in the general vicinity . . . with Kevin at the center of it, frozen in a rictus of absolute horror.

By Emily's estimation he was most likely having a momentary out of body experience.

But then the tape began rolling again. He clearly came back to himself as he leaped forward, stammering horrified apologies as he dove to clean up the food he had just spilled . . . thrown . . . onto the man that he was most terrified of in the world.

He meant well. That was clear. But Emily see could the horrendous act about to be committed . . . compounding the one that had _already_ been committed . . . and she actually jumped up to stop him.

"NO!" She yelled in horror as she reached out, "KEVIN NO!"

But it was too late . . . she hadn't moved fast enough . . . his hand was headed right for Hotch's crotch.

Oh. Dear. God.

She simultaneously winced and prayed, _'please just let him live to regret it._'

Just before he made actual contact . . . he was obviously going for the hamburger and potato salad but his _reasons_ for touching Hotch down there didn't matter, it just wasn't ever to be done . . . Hotch's fist closed around Kevin's hand.

Emily winced again, this time at the audible crunch as Kevin went down on one knee biting his lip.

"Don't even _think_ about it," Hotch hissed in what was clearly a barely controlled fury. And then he shoved the younger man backwards.

As Kevin fall onto his ass, clutching his cramped fingers, his face was turning a shade of scarlet that Emily didn't know was possible outside of a lobster tank. And for a moment the whole world seemed to stop again. It was a frozen tableau of horrified faces. Morgan couldn't stop blinking . . . Garcia seemed to have stopped breathing. JJ's mouth was moving like an open mouthed bass.

Then Kevin threw up on his shoes.

And that broke the freeze.

Suddenly there was a chorus of "EWWW GROSS!" as everyone scrambled to get back. As far as distractions went, Emily couldn't think of a better one outside of actually pulling her gun and shooting someone.

So she ignored the current spectacle that was Kevin and stepped in front of the prior spectacle that was Hotch.

He was still clearly fuming . . . and still completely covered in Kevin's uneaten dinner.

And that dinner had consisted of . . . by its smeared, splattered parts on his skin and clothing . . . potato salad, a hamburger plus bun, melted cheese, mayo, ketchup and of course . . . lots of grease. This all on the man who had not once in the years that she had known him, shown up to work without a razor's edge crease in his trousers, and a military regimented part in his hair.

Her gut was twisting in embarrassment for him.

"Come on," she said quietly as she tipped her head towards the house, "let's get you cleaned up."

Though he didn't actually acknowledge that she'd spoken . . . it was clear that he was still exerting most of his energy on keeping his temper . . . Hotch did briefly make eye contact with her as he stood up.

Then the hamburger plopped to the ground and his jaw twitched as his gaze shifted over her head.

Okay, yeah . . . Emily bit her lip . . . he was ready to kill someone.

So Emily quickly turned to look over at Penelope gagging slightly as she threw napkins at her . . . at that moment . . . extremely disgusting, throw-up covered boyfriend.

She shot her a look . . . one that clearly said to get Kevin to a safe place, perhaps West Virginia . . . and Garcia swallowed as she gave her a sharp nod in return.

Message received.

Then Emily turned back, her hand gliding over Hotch's back . . . but not quite making contact . . . as she began hurriedly ushering him out of the canopy area. Fortunately few people were paying much attention to them at that point. All eyes were still on Kevin who was slowly pushing himself up off the ground.

Being covered in vomit clearly trumped being covered in potato salad.

So she and Hotch started walking briskly up the hill towards the side door . . . bits of food and condiments falling in mockery with every step . . . but then Hotch stopped short. And just as Emily was about to ask what he was doing, without another word he turned and started moving double time around the back of the house.

And with her wearing flip flops . . . crap . . . he was about to leave her completely in the dust!

So Emily kicked off her 'totally not practical for chasing people down' shoes, leaned down to scoop them up off the ground, and then started running across the lawn to catch up with Hotch before he completely disappeared.

It didn't take a mind reader to know that he wanted to avoid traipsing through the group of men at the barbecue pit.

Poor thing.

Yes, word of what happened was mostly likely going to spread, but those drunken yahoos didn't need to get an up close chuckle at Hotch's expense.

If anyone did laugh at him she was going to have to bust open some lips.

Emily caught up to Hotch just after he'd turned the corner on the far side of the house. With a faint breathlessness . . . she'd been sprinting up an incline . . . she reached out and put her hand on his back.

He stopped short again. This time his jaw was twisting as he turned to give her a deadly look . . . but it was a look that she dismissed outright. His attempts at intimidation no longer worked on her.

So instead of taking her hand away as most . . . sane . . . people would have, she simply slipped it down to take his fingers instead.

Then she pouted at him in sympathy.

"I'm sorry you got dead cow thrown on you. But," her hand tightened around his as she gave him a little smile, "we'll get you cleaned up in a couple minutes and then if you want, I'll go back and kick Kevin's ass for messing up your clothes."

Though she was trying to get a smile out of Hotch, still, dress or no dress, she could take Kevin in a beat down any day of the week.

Hotch's jaw was tight as he stared at Emily for a second . . . and then just like that, with her in her bright yellow sundress carrying her flip flops . . . his anger and embarrassment began to fade. With her unique brand of humor and comfort . . . just her mere presence when nobody else would dare talk to him . . . it did make it nearly impossible to stay upset about stupid things.

He needed somebody in his life like that all the time.

He needed Emily.

And the tension in his jaw faded as his eyes crinkled slightly.

"Thanks, but given that he just threw up on himself, it would probably be best if you kept your distance from Kevin until he has a shower."

Preferably of the Silkwood variety. Jackass. What the HELL was he thinking? Hotch could acknowledge . . . and forgive . . . that tossing the food on him _was_ an accident. But he came within millimeters of direct contact!

For _that_ he was banned from the BAU for a week.

With a faint huff, Hotch tugged slightly on Emily's hand as he started walking through the grass again.

"Good point," Emily nodded seriously as they continued around the house, "but if you change your mind later, just let me know and I'll break out the brass knuckles."

She was relieved to see that . . . as she'd hoped . . . he seemed better now for her effort at both contact and humor. And then she heard a droll, "use of brass knuckles is illegal in the Commonwealth of Virginia Prentiss, but nonetheless, I'll keep the offer in mind."

Now he seemed back to his usual self . . . her lips twitched . . . good.

So as they stepped off the grass and onto the driveway in front of the open garage, Emily looked up to give him a little smile as she took the lead in getting him cleaned up.

"This way," she tugged him into the garage, "there's a door in here that leads to the back hallway behind the kitchen. Then we can use that upstairs bathroom. It should be totally clear."

That would be the same bathroom that they used when they had their little spill on the ice last winter.

Ah . . . she sighed . . . memories.

After Emily had maneuvered them around Dave's mint condition candy apple red '67 Mustang (her father had the same car in midnight blue) she realized that Hotch had nothing to change into.

They'd forgotten to stop and get his bag from the jeep.

Oops.

So she dropped his hand, and when he looked down at her quizzically she tipped her head towards the driveway.

"We forgot to get your ready bag," she pointed as she started walking backwards, "you go on through that door up on the left and I'll meet you up there in a few."

She started to turn, but then Hotch called her name and she stopped, looking back expectantly.

"Yeah?"

His lip quirked up.

"Jeep's locked."

As he said the words he was pulling the keys from his pocket. Then he tossed them . . . underhand . . . to where she was standing five feet away. Though she could have . . . under other circumstances . . . busted his balls on the girly toss, she was pretty sure that he'd done it today to ensure that the keys didn't go flying over her head and bounce off the mint condition Mustang.

And given her propensity for 'mishaps,' that was probably a good call on his part.

Still though, in this instance luck was on her side. She easily caught the keys in her cupped hand as she smiled and nodded.

"Right. See you in three minutes."

Then she turned and started jogging back out to the driveway. Fortunately the jeep was parked only a few vehicles back . . . they had been nearly the first arrivals . . . so she didn't have too far to go.

After she'd fussed with the alarm, dropped one flip flop, then the keys, then the other flip flop as she tried to pick up the first one, she finally got the doors unlocked.

His bag was on the rear floorboard behind the passenger seat, and once it was in hand, she stepped back to slam the door shut. That's when Emily realized that if she took the whole bag with her, that it would necessitate a return trip by one of them to put the bag _back_ again.

So with a sigh, she stepped forward and placed the duffel on the backseat. Then she dropped her flip flops back on the ground . . . purposely this time . . . unzipped the main compartment, and started digging around inside.

Going on the assumption that the greasy food had soaked through the thin cotton of Hotch's khakis, Emily rooted around until she'd pulled out a pair of clean boxers (blue), a plain t-shirt (white) and the one pair of jeans that he had folded up in the bottom of the bag.

She was presuming that Hotch wouldn't want to stick around much longer after that scene in the backyard. But still . . . she zipped the bag back up and tossed it onto the floor again . . . even if they were just going to be driving home, there was no way that he'd want to continue wearing ANY of the clothes that he had on right now.

They were all quite grubby.

So with his clean clothes now clutched under her arm, Emily slammed the jeep door shut and hit the locks. Then she slipped her flip flops on again . . . it was faster going without them but she had a feeling that she was going to keep dropping them . . . and began hurrying back up the driveway and into the garage.

She entered the house through the same door where she'd directed Hotch, and as expected, she came out in the back hallway not far from the wine cellar that the two of them had visited the last time they were at Rossi's house for a holiday party.

More memories.

Ones she chose not to dwell on right then . . . creepy ex-boyfriend convo . . . as she hung a right, continuing down the empty hall to the back staircase.

When she arrived on the second floor, Emily again went right and began counting doors until she arrived at the one that she was sure was the bathroom.

The last time she was on this floor of Dave's house . . . with Hotch . . . they'd (she'd) accidentally walked in on some trauma inducing sexual acts being performed by a frighteningly unattractive couple. So to prevent any additional hairy flashbacks . . . bleh . . . this time she made sure to knock firmly _before_ she yanked open the door.

Then she waited.

After she heard Hotch's questioning, "Prentiss?" she turned the knob.

Hoping that nobody had come up the stairs behind her in the last thirty seconds, Emily hurriedly slipped inside the bathroom and shut the door. Then she turned to find Hotch in just his pin striped boxers and black socks rinsing out the rest of his clothes in the sink.

It was quite a sight.

And spotting a chunk of potato salad stuck in his chest hair . . . must have happened when he pulled off his shirt . . . her lips began to twitch.

"Wow sir," she stepped closer to pluck the creamy yellow substance from his chest, "you really do give the phrase 'good enough to eat,' a whole new meaning."

When he looked down at her she smirked. "It's really a good thing that he didn't douse you in cookie dough ice cream or I'd be _licking_ you clean."

It was always fun to try to get a rise out of Hotch . . . her eyes involuntarily dropped down to the striped boxers . . . so to speak.

Hotch rolled his eyes as he turned to wash the yellow mustard off his chest.

"Very nice Prentiss. I hope you brought more than just the foundation of a sexual harassment suit in with you."

Once upon a time it might have seemed strange to be standing in a Dave's bathroom wearing only his boxer shorts while Emily made faux sexual advances.

Sadly those days were long gone.

"But of course!" Emily announced with a flourish as she dropped the potato in the trash with one hand as she held up his clean clothes with the other.

"Now," she eyed his bare chest approvingly, "as compensation for my errand feel to keep your cash and just pay me in trade. And by trade of course I'm referring to you completing the rest of the strip show that we've got happenig right now." She raised her eyebrow questioningly, "if it helps you get a good rhythm going, you should be aware that I can effectively hum one full verse of Salt N Peppa's '_Shoop_'. After that I start to lose my breath and it kind of fades in and out."

She wasn't done screwing with him quite yet.

And as expected . . . hoped . . . the strip tease suggestion resulted in a look nasty enough to make a small child (or Kevin) weep, so she put her hand up.

"Fine, fine," she went over to place his clothes on the far edge of the vanity, "I'm leaving."

"Good," Hotch muttered flatly as he went back to scrubbing the food splatters off his chest, "don't the let the door hit you on the way out."

Emily smiled.

"Love you too sir." Then just before she turned to step out, a thought popped into her head and she put her hand out instead.

"You know what, just give me your clothes and I'll go throw them in the wash before the stains set."

She'd seen the laundry room was right next to the door leading out to the garage. And she was quite sure that Rossi wouldn't mind if she threw Hotch's clothes in for a quick rinse.

Hotch stared at Emily for a moment before he sighed. "Okay." Then he rung out the shirt and pants he was rinsing in the sink. He handed them to her with a weary, "thanks."

It was a little odd having Emily do his laundry . . . his mother and his ex-wife were the only other women that had ever washed his clothes . . . but her point was more than valid.

But . . . strangely . . . even after she was holding his damp khakis and golf shirt, Emily continued to stand motionless by the door. So Hotch raised his eyebrow, "what?"

Her eyes dropped down to his boxers. "Full monty Hotch."

As she'd expected, the food had indeed soaked through his khakis.

Hotch looked over at her in confusion before he followed her gaze down to his shorts.

His eyes widened . . . God DAMN it! Frigging hamburger!

A growl slipped past his lips as he looked back up to see Emily smirking at him.

"Now, now sir," she put her hand out as she said seriously, "let's be adult about this."

If she hadn't already been having a good day . . . Hotch's public misfortune notwithstanding . . . forcing the man in question to strip down to his socks for her was definitely the cherry on the sundae.

Hotch rolled his eyes . . . adult his ass. She was LOVING this!

But . . . he grunted to himself . . . she was right. If he kept them on he was going to get grease on his clean clothes. And he could see that she'd brought him a pair of clean boxers so that would be stupid not to change now.

Not that she was getting her little show. So he shooed her towards the door with a scowl.

"I'll toss them to you."

Hell was freezing over before he stripped in front of her.

"You're no fun," Emily pouted as Hotch opened the door, shuffling her into the hall as he replied flatly, "and I see that your definition of 'fun' includes trying to get me brought up on sexual harassment charges so that you can orchestrate your coup of the BAU."

"Well, come on Hotch," she immediately shot back, "you know it's the only way that I'm ever going to wrestle control. Even _Reid_ has seniority ov . . ."

The last part of Emily's sentence was cut off by the door slamming in her face. And with lips twitching, she yelled out, "STRIP SIR!" and a second later the door flew open again and she got hit in the face with a pair of striped boxers.

A huge grin slid across Emily's face as she pulled them off her head.

"THANK YOU!" she yelled back through the rapidly diminishing space.

As the wood slammed back into the frame again, Emily turned to see Reid standing open mouthed at the end of the upstairs hallway. Before she could say anything, he put his hand up.

"I don't want to know." Then she heard him mutter to himself as he turned away, "_why_ do I keep trying to use this bathroom?"

She chuckled to herself as she started down the hall.

/*/*/*/*/*

Ten minutes later Emily looked up from her thumb twiddling to see Hotch standing in the doorway of the laundry room.

"Hey," a soft smile touched her lips as she sat back against the wooden bench next to the swishing wash machine, "you found me."

Though she'd never say it out loud, he looked really cute in just blue jeans and a white t-shirt. With his classically handsome features, it was a very 50s movie star look for him.

James Dean meets old school Cary Grant.

"Yes," with a heavy sigh Hotch walked through the door, "I found you." He dropped down onto the bench next to her, "though I would have perhaps found you a bit _faster_ if you'd given me some clue as to where to find the laundry room. This is the fifth door I walked through," his brow rose up as he looked down at her inquisitively, "did you know that Dave has an entire roomful of wooden ducks?"

Though Hotch wasn't quite sure what a "normal" man to wooden duck ratio was, he was fairly positive that Rossi had exceeded it by a dozen or so.

Emily smiled as she slipped off her flip flops and pulled her legs up.

"Actually, it's not _just_ ducks," she clarified as she tucked her legs under her skirt, "Dave has a woodworking shop off the garage. He makes lots of things but he just has more ducks than anything else because he uses them when he goes hunting."

It was hard to imagine him not moving on to something besides water fowl soon though. Really, how many frigging ducks did a guy need? Didn't they reuse those things?

Feeling an emotion that felt disturbingly . . . and surprisingly . . . like jealousy swirl up, Hotch turned to run an appraising eyebrow over Emily's relaxed form.

"Really?" his brow rose another quarter inch, "and how did you come across all of that information?"

Given that Hotch himself had known Dave Rossi for over ten years, and he had never heard about this . . . apparently all consuming . . . wooden duck building hobby, it kind of begged the question . . . how did Emily know about it? And how did she know where his woodworking shop was? And the laundry room too for that matter.

Just how much time was she spending with Dave anyway?

Picking up a slightly peevish tone in Hotch's question . . . it matched the frown of disapproval on his face . . . Emily's lip quirked up slightly.

"Oh," she responded with a disinterested shrug, "it's just something that he mentioned the other morning in bed."

"WHAT?"

Hearing Hotch's voice hit an octave that he probably hadn't touched since before puberty, Emily burst out laughing.

"I was just kidding!" She chuckled with a good natured smack to his arm, "you sounded jealous so I was amusing myself at your expense."

And given the fact that she _was_ simply amusing herself at his expense, and that the joke had flown right over his head . . . it was rare that Hotch took anything she said seriously, even for a moment . . . that just confirmed her jealousy theory.

It was cute . . . though somewhat perplexing.

"I sound _what_?" Hotch sputtered in surprise.

How that hell had she picked up on THAT so quickly?

"Jealous." She said as her smile softened.

"That's just ridiculous," Hotch scoffed with something approaching a righteous indignation, "I am not jealous of _Dave_."

Yes. He was. It had been a while since he'd felt the emotion . . . it had been a while since he'd had a woman in his life in any capacity to even get jealous _about_ . . . but he certainly remembered what that little burning sensation felt like.

It was unpleasant.

And he couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was experiencing it now. Of course he knew (without her saying it) that Emily and Dave weren't actually _sleeping_ together. And even assuming for the sake of ridiculous arguments that they were, it's not as though he and Emily were themselves romantically involved. And he wasn't harboring any latent . . . inappropriate . . . sexual attraction towards her either. So he really couldn't figure why it was bothering him so much to know that Emily had apparently been spending personal time exchanging life details with Dave.

Not just personal time . . . a little voice snarked in the back of his head . . . a LOT of personal time apparently. She seems to have the run out of the house.

Hotch told the snarky little voice to shut the hell up.

"Really?" Emily looped her arm through Hotch's as she continued quietly, "because the snippy little tone there sounds like you might be kind of jealous. Like perhaps," she sighed as her head fell to his shoulder, "I might be cheating on you with Dave."

When she heard Hotch grunt in response, Emily chuckled softly.

"Hotch do you think that Dave and I are having _coffee_ behind your back?"

"_Are_ you?"

The words came out of Hotch's mouth with a surprising amount of bite. So much bite that his jaw immediately snapped shut as he felt Emily stiffen at his side. And in the . . . very . . . awkward silence that followed, he felt a stab of guilt and fear mixing in with the unexpected jealousy and irritation.

Though knew that he needed to say something . . . he honest to God didn't know what it was that he was supposed to say. He didn't even know what the hell his problem _was_!

But then a second later . . . before he could get his thoughts straight . . . he felt Emily's fingers brushing across his jaw, the slight pressure guiding him to turn his head.

So he did.

"Why are you upset?" She whispered as their eyes locked.

He shook his head slowly as his gaze started to slide away from hers.

"I'm not . . . I . . . I don't know," he said softly as all of his emotions faded to simple embarrassment, "I just know that I am."

Feeling a surge of sympathy at his clear embarrassment, Emily stared at Hotch's granite profile for a moment trying to figure out what it was that he could not.

Why would he be so bothered at the thought of her having coffee with Dave? At her spending time with Dave?

And then she pictured her and Hotch's day so far . . . all of their days so far, all of the time that _they_ now spent together, all of the things that they now shared . . . and she realized why he was upset.

She was all that he had.

Hotch didn't make friends easily . . . he didn't trust easily . . . so whether or not he'd actually admit it to her, this relationship that they'd forged, it was special. It meant something to him. Something that would be cheapened for him if it turned out that it didn't mean as much to her.

That it wasn't as special.

But it was though. Though she loved all of the team, she couldn't deny that she had come to feel a definitive shift in her loyalties. And that shift was completely to the man at her side.

Maybe it was time to tell him that.

So her expression softened slightly as she tipped her head back to his shoulder. His entire body was rigid against hers.

"Want to hear a secret?" She murmured as her cheek brushed his sleeve.

Hotch was quite for a moment, and then she heard him whisper. "What?"

His voice was slightly hoarse, so she squeezed his arm as she whispered back. "I love having coffee with you. It's become my favorite part of the day. Just hanging out with you, has become my favorite part of the day. And I only know what I do about the layout of Dave's house and his hobby, because the last time we were all here, he gave me and JJ that tour. So the next time that you start thinking something silly, like maybe I don't want to spend time with you anymore, you remember what I said. Spending time with you is the best . . . most fun . . . part of my day. You got it?"

Hotch closed his eyes as both the embarrassment, and the tightness around his chest, faded away. Somehow . . . he reached over to pick up Emily's hand . . . she could figure out to how fix things, even when he didn't know what was broken.

"Yes," he murmured back as he wound his fingers through hers, "I got it . . . thank you. And um . . . ditto."

Okay, that was perhaps not quite as eloquent and heartfelt as what Emily had just said, but he still wasn't that comfortable putting his . . . growing . . . affection for her into words.

He just hoped that she wouldn't take offense.

But then he felt her squeeze his hand right before a chuckle slipped past her lips.

"Smooth talker."

He smiled.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/

"I can't believe that we're doing this." Emily snorted . . . mostly to herself . . . as Hotch slipped the passkey into the roof access door.

"Well," Hotch paused in his fairly illegal entry to turn back to Emily with a raised eyebrow, "we can still leave if you want. I can just take you home now."

Fat chance she'd say yes to that.

And as he expected, she immediately yelped a "No!" as she waved her hands at him in a shooing motion.

"No! I want to see the fireworks. So please," she smiled sweetly under the flickering fluorescent lights, "open the door sir."

They were in the dank, humid, upper stairwell of an office building on 19th & E, breaking onto . . . okay, they had a key but it was totally obtained under questionable circumstances – a bogus security check . . . the restricted roof deck so that they could watch the fireworks that were about to start booming any second.

After they'd gotten Hotch's still wet . . . but at least clean . . . clothes out the wash, they'd beat a hasty goodbye from the party. Though Hotch's mood had improved considerably, Emily still hadn't trusted him not to toss Kevin onto the fire pit the first chance that he got.

Besides that . . . he began fussing with the key again . . . it was coming up on fireworks time.

And she did so love a good set of fireworks.

But then when they'd gotten stuck in near gridlock traffic heading towards the city, Emily had lamented . . . in a totally not pouty or whiney way at all(!) . . . that now she was going to get home too late to watch the fireworks live from her window, she hadn't actually anticipated the subsequent chain of events.

Really she was _just_ making an observation!

All right perhaps it was a slightly dejected observation, but she hadn't actually thought Hotch would be able to _do _anything about it! But then he'd tapped his fingers on the steering wheel for about five beats . . . turned and looked at her for another two . . . and then suddenly hit the directional and pulled into the breakdown lane. Before she could even ask him what the hell he was doing . . . if perhaps they'd just been paged to a dump site and she'd missed it . . . he'd already maneuvered them down to the next off ramp into the city. It had dumped them about ten blocks from the Memorials . . . far from the tens of thousands of holiday revelers . . . and then he'd cut around the busiest intersections and dropped them back out in Foggy Bottom. That's when he'd picked a government building . . . apparently at random . . . and stopped the jeep.

And now here they were . . . top of the world Ma(!) . . . about to watch the fireworks from the roof deck of some sub-division of the Department of Agriculture. All it had taken was Hotch flashing his badge at the guard to convince him that they were doing random security sweeps of all the government buildings in the area over ten stories . . . how he picked that floor count she did not know . . . and they were in.

Well, with that and Hotch's patented ultra-serious business glower, and _then_, they were in.

And now . . . the door suddenly popped open . . . they were _really_ in!

"Yay!" She exclaimed with a delighted clap, "good job!"

And just in time too. She could hear the explosions beginning over the river.

Hotch's lips twitched slightly at Emily's exuberance . . . it was always infectious . . . as he stepped through the doorway and began scouring the roof for a good viewing location.

Hmmm . . . his nose wrinkled slightly . . . they had a bit of a problem.

"I can't see anything."

At Emily's befuddled announcement, Hotch nodded slowly.

"Yes Prentiss, I know," he pointed, "let's try the SW corner."

The best viewpoint would have been the NW corner . . . but there was a giant air conditioning unit and vent blocking that whole section of the roof. Of course . . . he rolled his eyes as Emily hurried past him to get to the corner of the roof . . . he gets her all the way up here and she still can't see the damn fireworks display.

That was about average for his luck these days.

Emily pushed herself up on her tiptoes to lean over the edge of the wall, and . . . nothing. Okay . . . she hooked her fingers around the base of the giant flag pole screwed to the top of the ledge . . . maybe if she climbed up.

She hadn't gotten more than an arm around the base when suddenly she was yanked backwards.

"Prentiss!" Hotch snapped as he grabbed Emily by the waist and yanked her down from the wall she was attempting to climb. "I did not bring you up here to watch you splatter your brains on the sidewalk below."

Christ! She was scaling the damn building like she was Spiderman!

"But Hotch," Emily whined as she looked up at him with a shameless pout, "our fireworks seats are obstructed view. I can't _see_ anything."

Though she knew the whine . . . and the pout . . . were double whammy manipulative, they were most definitely needed at the moment. She'd noticed recently that often . . . used either alone or in tandem . . . she could get Hotch to agree to do things that he didn't necessarily want to do.

It was pretty neat!

And at present he most _definitely_ didn't want her climbing up onto the flag pole ledge. But she had to if she was going to see _any_ of the fireworks display that had just started.

Hence the double whammy.

She was on a time crunch here!

Hotch's teeth ground together as he stared first at the pout and then the flag pole. The pole which was on a wide ledge and firmly affixed to the top of the building. But still . . . no. This was a woman that fell off of high heels. He was NOT letting her hang onto the broad side of a flag pole.

He didn't care how 'firmly affixed' it was.

So he turned around to look across the roof . . . his eyes locked on the AC monstrosity.

"All right," he muttered as he started back to the open stairwell, "you'll get your fireworks. Just give me a second."

There were a pile of milk crates sitting just outside the access door. Most likely used as seating by maintenance employees that snuck up to have their lunch/smoke breaks in the great outdoors. But for him . . . Hotch began scooping them up from the ground . . . they'd make a nice staircase.

Once he'd carried them over to the air conditioning unit . . . given that it was actually ON the roof, and not attached to the side of it, it was a much safer climb . . . Hotch began stacking them to his liking.

But as he stepped back to eyeball the height, he realized that they still weren't tall enough for him to do what he needed to do. So with a sigh, he went back and dragged the last three crates from the pile by the door.

Hopefully they'd be enough.

As Hotch put one of the new crates on the other three, and then made a parallel stack of two and then one next to the first grouping, Emily crowed in delight.

"Oh Hotch!" She slapped his back, "you're the best!"

He'd made a perfect little staircase.

Though as she hurriedly moved to climb up it . . . fireworks weren't stopping just because she wasn't lined up to see them . . . he turned back with a scowl.

"Just _wait_ Prentiss," he stopped her with both the look and an index finger pushed into her shoulder, _"please."_

The "please" was clearly tacked on as an afterthought less she toss back a scowl of her own, thereby sending the evening down a less pleasant road. Still though, she waited, watching with a raised eyebrow as he climbed up onto the first . . . and then the second . . . stack of plastic crates. Then he craned his neck slightly over the unit . . . presumably to see what kind of guck was up there. Whatever it was couldn't have been too bad because Emily saw him put a hand out to steady himself to climb onto the final set of crates.

The stack of three was a bit high.

And though this whole little climbing excursion was her idea . . . well, she'd started it with the flagpole anyway . . . she still winced as he put his foot on the red plastic.

"Careful," she murmured as she hurried to steady the little tower, "don't fall."

"If I do," Hotch grunted as he hooked his leg over the top of the giant structure, "please make sure that the police report slash hospital intake forms indicate that we were here on 'official' business and not," his voice faded slightly as he disappeared over the ridge, "Emily Prentiss' fireworks expedition."

"Roger that sir," Emily said with a grin as she stepped back slightly from the crates to call up, "can you see anything?"

Nothing.

Her brow wrinkled.

"Hotch?" She projected her voice slightly as she pushed herself to her tiptoes, "you didn't fall into Narnia did you?"

And then his head appeared.

"I was checking the metal for rust spots or defects," he put his hand down, "looks like it should hold us both fine. Come on."

Really . . . he rolled his eyes slightly . . . he couldn't believe that he was not only encouraging, but actually _facilitating_, this ridiculous excursion. But then he saw Emily flash him a brilliant grin and the grumbling was lost. A faint dimple slipped out in return, which he tried to cover with faux irritation.

"Well, hurry up," he wiggled his fingers, "I'm not up here for my health, you know."

"Coming, coming," Emily said as she scrambled to climb onto the first milk carton. But then Hotch cleared his throat.

"Sherpas don't wear flip flops Prentiss."

The dry remark caused an involuntary snort as she kicked them off.

"Perhaps, but I'm betting that's mostly because of the risk of frost bite. Still though," she stepped barefoot up onto the first crate, "point taken."

And then she winced slightly as the hard plastic pressed into her foot.

"You okay?"

Hearing the concern in Hotch's voice, she looked up to flash him a quick smile.

"Yep, just wish I had a pair of sneakers," she shifted her balance slightly as she bit her lip, "or maybe just a couple of sherpas to carry me up there."

"Do you want me to come back down and get you?"

At the sweet . . . very unexpected . . . offer, Emily's head snapped up in surprise.

"No thanks," she gave him a soft smile, "I got it. Though," she braced her hand against the cold metal unit as she stepped onto the second stack of crates, "my legs are shorter than yours, so just be ready to haul me over the top like a sack of potatoes."

That wasn't really a joke. Given the distance from the top of the milk crates to the top of the air conditioning unit . . . about two and a half feet . . . she wasn't anticipating a 'dignified hoist.'

As she stepped up onto the third stack of crates and they began to wobble slightly . . . sending her heart rate jack rabbitting . . . Hotch suddenly reached down. His hands were sliding under her arms and yanking her up before she'd even had a chance to catch her breath.

The next thing she knew, she was laying half on top of a warm . . . sprawled out . . . body.

"Thanks for the lift," she said with a grin as she pushed herself back to her knees.

"Don't mention it," Hotch raised an eyebrow as he stared up her from his position on his back, "to anyone. Now then," he simultaneously rolled over and hopped to his feet, "fireworks aren't going to last all night," he put his hand down to help her up, "so let's get moving."

"But," Emily frowned slightly as he pulled her to her feet, "can't we just see them from here?"

They'd just climbed eight feet off the ground. So she kind of expected the 'obstructed view' had been de-obstructed.

"Yes and no," Hotch tugged her along, "yes," he waved dismissively with his free hand, "you can see some of them from here," a burst of green fire helped make his point, "but you can see _all_ of them," he stopped short on the other side of the giant metal structure, "from here."

"Oh!" Emily's breath caught as she looked up to see the cascade of colors in the sky, "this is perfect."

Hotch's lip quirked up slightly as Emily stared into the sky . . . and then he realized he was doing a bit of staring himself . . . and quickly averted his eyes.

As he gaze snapped back up to the colorful explosions overhead . . . it really was an excellent viewing location . . . he felt Emily slip her arm through his.

"Thanks for this," she whispered with a little bop of her head against his bicep, "it was really, really sweet."

God, he'd climbed a freaking building for her! On the sweetness scale that was pretty much off the charts! The more time she spent with the man, the more astounded she was that Haley had left him.

"You're welcome," Hotch reached over to squeeze her hand, "just enjoy your show."

It was his way of saying thank you for what she'd done for him earlier after the incident with Kevin. She'd fixed his day again . . . so he was fixing hers.

He knew that she loved the fireworks, and he didn't want her to miss them.

And so they watched the remaining ten minutes of the Fourth of July display like that . . . with her leaning against his side . . . and him holding her hand. And when it was done . . . and she'd 'wa hoo'd in delight at the final cacophony of colors and sound . . . his lips twitched as she looked up at him with a ridiculous grin.

"Best Fourth of July EVER!"

Hotch snorted . . . and then laughed out loud.

"Yes Prentiss," his chuckle tapered off as his gaze shifted to take in the beauty of the cityscape around them, "this was a good one."

It was certainly the best holiday he'd had since . . . he thought back . . . well, probably Christmas of '07.

That was the last major holiday he and Haley were together.

"Hey."

He looked down as Emily patted his arm.

"What?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You want to come back to my place and have a midni . . ." her eyes dropped to squint at her watch, "ten thirty pm, snack?"

Though she was getting tired . . . she was hungry too. Her last plate of party food had been a good five hours ago. And given what Hotch had just done for her . . . fixed a Fourth of July that had been about to go completely off the rails . . . she felt it was only right to have him back for a little bit of thank you leftovers.

"Uh," Hotch hesitated a moment as he considered how long a day Emily had had so far. And he was pretty sure if he could see her face clearly . . . a bit difficult given the lighting on the roof . . . he'd see some pretty significant circles under her eyes.

"Please," she smiled up hopefully, "if I eat with you there then it won't be quite so embarrassing that I'll be consuming a fourth meal today."

"Fifth," Hotch interjected with a grunt as he started walking her towards the edge of the air conditioning unit, "and yes, I suppose I could come up for quick bite."

Climbing buildings did tend to work up an appetite. And also . . . unlike Emily . . . he'd only had three plates of food that day.

"Good," Emily yawned as they stepped up to the edge of the hulking structure, "you can help me finish off the cold . . . cuts."

When Emily's voice faded away, Hotch's gaze dropped down to see what had caught her attention.

His jaw began to twitch.

"Prentiss," he ground out between clenched teeth, "when I pulled you up, did you perhaps happen to _kick _your foot out as you went over the top of the unit?"

The top two milk crates were missing from the highest stack. And that left a lovely six foot gap from where they were standing to the plastic box on the ground.

A gap that _he_ was going to have to jump in order to get them both down.

Emily's nose wrinkled as she looked at the two crates that had tumbled to the ground . . . and then back up to Hotch's twitching eyebrow.

A sheepish smile slid across her face.

"Oops."

* * *

_A/N 2: There you go, been tapping away at this one for a couple months. They just kept going on and on with their evening and I was sucked along for the ride. I figured if I could take them through the fireworks then Emily would be happy. _

_As to whether Hotch would go to the lengths he did to get Emily her fireworks, I say yes. And I say that not just because I wrote it ;) but because ultra- serious Hotch of canon made a spectacle of himself in musical theater(!) for Haley, which seems rather mind boggling when you think about it. So I think Girl'Hotch would at least flash a badge and climb a couple of milk cartons to make Emily happy. And no they aren't in love at this point in time, but in other universes by summer their relationship has already progressed to romantic attachment, so I think the base affection is already there. It's just how he's tapping into it._

_If the 'Kevin food goes flying into Hotch's lap' scene is ringing a bell, it was an event referenced once in another universe. I think perhaps the Being Emily stories. But the idea of it, Kevin's panicked efforts to fix what he'd just done blinding him to the fact of what he was ABOUT to do, amused me enough to decide to write the scene live here. Really, had to get Hotch's clothes off somehow :) And of course the upstairs bathroom "incident" with Reid echoed the one back in the Rossi Christmas party. _

_The Hours will be going up Monday or Tuesday night EST. I actually have two items about ready to go, but one's in a Pound of Flesh and I don't know if I have it in me to read that over right now. But hopefully I can 'power through' before next weekend._

_Otherwise, focus for next batch of postings, Second Chances, Horses, and Gingerbread. Plus some Halloween stuff. _

_Also, we'll be putting up regular & Halloween prompts Monday as well._


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